The other day I heard someone say that the reason it's so hard to tell people why you love (classical) music is because music picks up where words leave off.
And so it is with so much of life as I experience it. There is so much that I just can't express
because words can't go there. The things I do in a day, when described, sure don't look like they would create the kind of satisfaction and joy that they do. A stack of clean dishes in the rack. A swept floor. A home made cake. It's not the end results, not the things in themselves, but the doing.
"Mindfulness", they call it.
|Must be non GM corn|
Okay, except my mind isn't really engaged in those tasks so much as my heart and my hands. More often than not if the mind has anything to say I end up having to shush it, because who needs thoughts about what's going on in the world while making bread? Not me, and not anyone who will eat it. No, it's best to shush the mind and let the hands and heart and the dough be all that there is in that moment. Let the eyes, if they must wander, wander to the window, the tree tops against the sky. Then the mind, if it says anything, just gives thanks.