Sitting still

When I was a kid my parents were continually telling me to sit still.

I couldn't. 

And, to a degree, I still can't.

Is that such a bad thing?

I don't know. 

It does mean I feel anxious when I'm not doing something but again, I'm quite happy to sit (still) on a bench and watch out into the rising sun, listening to the cacophony of birds on one of my many, early-morning walks. 

Such a contradiction, eh?

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being a bit brainwashed around the protestant work ethic: if you're not doing or seen to be doing, well, you're lazy. Bone idle in fact. And I feel that at home. I'll sit down for an hour or so and it ain't long before my mind is playing out all the things I should be or have promised myself I'd do. It's not healthy — the rumination that is. 

Why can't I sit there and be one entirely with the moment?

Anyhow, tis Saturday, and I'm sure you don't want to read another prolix post. Instead (of the writing), I'll do some housework, a bit of gardening, walk the dog and hopefully spend the rest of the day reading. Right now, I'm pouring my way back and forth over Mary Oliver's delicious little book of poetry, Red Bird. It really is delightful. After that, I'm trying to finish a J. Krishnamurti book and I've also got another on the go by Kerry-Anne Mendoza on the Zombie Economy. It's how my mind works and whilst I'd love to be reading one book at a time it's not my modus operandi. 


What are you reading right now?

Take care.

— Ju

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

PS. I liked this Tweet I saw from Michael Wade. Seems to sum up my day perfectly.


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