Restless

Maybe you seen the Buddhist bumper sticker that reads, "Don't just do something. Sit there."

This morning, I have been pondering just how hard it is to follow this injunction, and sit there.

Is this the modern condition, this inability to just be, here, in the moment? I would like to believe I am the sort of person who could sit on a rock by a river or a beach, all day long, and be perfectly content. Some busy days, I'll even convince myself that this is exactly what I want. What I am wondering is, how long would I last on that rock before my wandering mind put me to work at some task or another?

Those of you who are reading who know me well will remember my favorite word, the word I seemed pushed to learn in this life. That word is ENOUGH. I may write of "enough" in some other post, but for today, I want to peer into just one small corner of that magnificent (and magic) word. This particular moment, on this particular Sunday morning, is absolutely unique, and I am the only person on the planet experiencing it in just this way. It took 13.8 billion years to arrive in this exact form. It is perfection. It is certainly ENOUGH. I feel called to rest in its perfection, its "enough-ness." Yet . . .

Yet, my mind pulls me into the next thing, and the next, or sometimes the thing that came before. I seem to choose my inner, virtual reality over this magical moment, although I know better, again and again. This morning, a friend texted, saying that she'd be ten minutes late for our meeting. That text offered me ten extra minutes before I needed to get in my car to get to our meeting spot. I thought "Ten, unscheduled minutes. I should just sit here. Just be." Immediately, my mind tried to pull me into a hundred different directions, attempting to fill this empty space.

The irony is, the space wasn't empty. The space was full and perfect. It was enough. I didn't need to make it better by changing its form. I want to fall in love with these empty spaces, the rests between the notes, the space between inhale and exhale. I want to find my way to savoring what is. Maybe this is why I return again and again to the Greek Islands. There is a rhythm there that feels like coming home to this stillness. My mind goes quiet. It is easier to be at rest.

Maybe we all have our Greek Islands, the places where we can trade in our restless spirits for an absolute "yes" to what is, here and now. The trick will be to find the island inside, and return to it again and again. Yes.