Openness, receptivity, a relaxed and welcoming face,
Readiness to learn, fearlessness in a moment of change,
Like all that we value, these are invited, not forced.
Openness, receptivity, a relaxed and welcoming face,
Readiness to learn, fearlessness in a moment of change,
Like all that we value, these are invited, not forced.
Walking can be a meditation, a practice of just walking. But thoughts bubble up when walking, and if we try to hold onto those thoughts “for later,” we may find we’re not doing a good job of either walking or holding onto thoughts. Jotting down a note can allow us to let a thought go, comfortable we can revisit it later if we choose. We can return to open, non-fixatedness, back to just walking.
Sitting down and writing is different, because writing is a mode of thinking. The additional time it takes—for most of us—to put words down in sequence is a slowing down, reflecting process, and we find that our drafted and redrafted words think with us. We are treated to an expansion of our own mind: a simple, complex adaptive system with our mind influencing the words we put down and the words we put down influencing our mind.
So versatile! Writing to let go of thinking, and writing as thinking.
Can great courage be built from little?
As a small instance of courage—a “little courage”—I imagine inserting just a thin sliver of time between a stimulus and what comes next. This allows what was an immediate, habitual reaction to be replaced by a response, now mediated by the narrow wedge of a moment’s pause.
Many times, our responses may well not rise above our worn, habitual reactions. I may quickly reach a judgement that is indistinguishable from my usual, mindless categorization. But the wedge of thoughtfulness may allow me, just occasionally, to choose differently.
Maybe, by practicing freedom this way, I can build a great courage.
It can be debilitating to feel the absence of choice: “I have no choice.” But while it is frequently true that the options we would prefer to have available are not present for us, this is not the same as having no choice; the truth, potentially much less harsh, is simply that we do not have every choice.
I may not be able to start enjoying the thing I do not enjoy, so I may not have that choice. And I may not be able to “not let it bother me,” so I may not have that choice, either. But I may still have the option of taking a deep breath when I find my breathing has been tense and shallow. Or the option of stepping away from the computer, or appreciating the air conditioning. I may make one of these choices, and by doing so, Either/or is thanked for its services and shown the door.
A choice does not have to be on the terms we expect.