Mindfulness & Writing from "Deliberate Inattentiveness"

My kismetic discoveries in the blogosphere continue.

I have been on a personal quest to reconnect with what Buddhists call a state of mindfulness. The short definition might be: Living in the here and now. However, there is much more to it. I am sure I'll soon be visited by words to explain my life-long relationship with mindfulness and they will serve as a post here--more ramblings on my own state of being. For now, I will just say that mindfulness is the human state into which I was born. But, by adulthood, the mindfulness had been ridiculed and punished out of me. Western, at least American, social institutions (schools, families, employers) tend to reject the placidity of mindful people. The mindful ones just don't take things seriously enough; they are not worried enough about the future; they don't show enough fear.

Anyway, today I came across the Guardian Unlimited Poetry Workshop. This site sponsors a monthly opportunity to have one's poetry critiqued by a published author; it is described this way:

Want to have your work reviewed by a published poet?

Every month, our poetry workshop is hosted by a different poet who sets an exercise, chooses the most interesting responses and offers an appraisal of them. That's the hard part taken care of - all you need to do is start writing ...

January 2008 offers a workshop challenge from author Jean Sprackland, rooted in action/motion and mindful observation. This is what Sprackland suggests:

[Sprackland] A few years ago I spent some time at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig in Ireland, with a diverse group of artists, writers, musicians and dancers. I struck up a friendship with an artist called Joanna Kidney, who was making a series of exquisitely beautiful prints based on her observations of the natural world. Joanna described how she would start work every day by walking with a small sketchbook in her hand. She felt that the very act of carrying the sketchbook made her more observant. Whenever she noticed something, she would stop and sketch roughly for a minute or two without even looking at the page, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky, leaf, water or whatever it was. Then she would turn the page and move on.

I decided to try deliberate inattentiveness as a way of starting poems. Almost all the writing we do in our lives is so careful - and nothing demands greater carefulness than the drafting and crafting of a poem. But that comes later: at the beginning what's required is the chaotic, subversive, irrational yet often brilliantly lucid potential of the subconscious, and to get to that you have first to trick the conscious brain into relaxing its control-freak tendencies.

There's a practical side to this, too. If I'm not writing, and can't write, no amount of time spent sitting at my desk will help, but walking can often break the deadlock. When the poem won't come to me, I must go to the poem.

So after the excesses of Christmas, here's a simple way to cleanse the palate and get writing again:

Take a walk. It doesn't matter where: somewhere new or familiar, urban or rural. Go out for at least half an hour, to give yourself time to relax into it and stop thinking of it as a writing exercise. Have a small sketchbook in your hand, and a pencil.

Whenever you notice something, pause. Look, listen, experience it. Then open the sketchbook and write, carelessly and quickly, for a minute or so. You probably won't be able to write without looking at the page, but do not read back as you write, and neither think nor reflect. Keep focused on the thing itself, and try to let the writing be something that happens, rather than something you're doing.

As soon as the writing stops, flip the page and walk on. Find the next place to stop and write again. Aim to write something on five or six pages before you go home.

Leave the scraps of writing - your sketches - shut firmly in the book for at least 24 hours. Then you can read them (if they're legible!) and start to work with them. They are the raw material for some poetry experiments. You are not obliged to use all of it, and you are allowed to add, change and take any liberties you wish. The important thing at this stage is to move away from the original experience - the walk - and begin to transform the material in some way, however small or subtle.

The challenge continues on, providing instructions for submissions, etc.
Read the complete details for the Guardian Unlimited January 2008 Workshop here: http://books.guardian.co.uk/poetryworkshop/story/0,,2240640,00.html

I am not sure that I will be submitting anything. But, I am sure that what Sprackland suggests is worthy, wise. We could all use to step outside of our incessant minds and travel a path of "deliberate inattentiveness", giving our subconscious wisdom a chance to be our guide.

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Image: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Trees-sky.jpg

Motion without Purpose and Petrifying Pedicures

I had the worst pedicure of my life yesterday. Not because my toes were painted badly or because I was injured, instead this was horrific because the young man performing the procedure touched me as if there were no life in him…or in me for that matter.

His hands massaged at my toes, feet and legs as if those hands were automatronic dead fish. And, the experience was as though the automated fish were being flopped about my digits, appendages and limbs as a gift, given by a being who truly believed that dead fish flopping was miraculously sensual for the woman with her feet in the tub.

This young man was performing a perfect replication of the movements done by the female counterpart to either side of him. He even glanced over to watch them, now and again. Yet, there was NOTHING. No purpose. No focus. No exchange between caregiver and receiver…not even the connection of technician to customer.

Just that motion against my skin.

I thought maybe, at one point, the sensation would make me queasy…but, then, I exchanged nausea for curiosity…

What the hell is he doing…and why?

He trimmed at my cuticles as if moving the nippers around the base of my nail while opening and closing was the point, was his purpose…the opening and the closing while following the path was the job to be done…and done with fluidity and style—the occasional twisting of the elbow out to the side to aid in delicately maneuvering around that corner—the metronomic wipe off on the towel to clear way the pared skin—

What pared skin?

Anyway...the lack of purpose or intent...the motion...I have a new understanding of the cliche, "going through the motions".

Had this poor soul never actually had a pedicure? I wanted to see his feet. More fascinating, what other activities may be plagued by this phenomena? What else looks as though it is being done to us or for us but, in truth, is all what it looks likes and none of what it IS (or what it is supposed to be)?

Possibly:

• Cooking (e.g., fast food and pre-frozen packaged dispensaries disguised as restaurants)
• Education (e.g., prefabricated curricula presented by instructors with little or no expert knowledge of the subject matter)
• Romance (e.g., Match.com, speed dating, Internet chat rooms)
• Art, Theatre, Dance (e.g., untrained creators who present images, performances, movements that "approximate"--and/or trained imps who fit a trends of physical attractiveness, but actually possess no innate talent--techno-talented assemblers of pre-programmed graphics who know nothing, feel nothing of the passion that drives true art)
• Medical care (pseudo-nurses...on and on)

Yes, the the list potentially goes on and on. You certainly have some example of your own.

My karmic/kismetic connection with the blogosphere reached, today, into the brick and mortar world. I began writing this post yesterday. Today, while consulting with a surgeon, he mentioned his fear of colleagues who performed the same procedure that is his specialty. He fears their antiquated lack of understanding of the source of the condition--though these other surgeons have accepted that the neo-treatment works, they have never internalized that the reason it works is because what had traditionally been seen as the cause of the particular condition (in this case, chronic pain) was not the cause at all. They perform the procedure as a matter of going through the motions of relieving the patients' pain, but they have no understanding of why it works--which can lead to less than perfect execution of the surgery, in the opinion of the surgeon I saw...and I could see how he may be right.

In addition to grossing me out, the experience of this pedicure has left me petrified, or at least highly wary, of all the things I must rely on others to do for me, all the things I cannot do to, or for, myself.

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Note: Wikimedia Commons Image: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Nagellack11.jpg

Is it moral to indulge unrequited love?

...This is the visage of the angelic-voiced Maria Callas

I'm beginning to believe I have developed a karmic/kismetic connection with the blogosphere. Once again, I was pondering a topic and randomly blog-hopping when I stumbled onto a post that would turn my hushless meta-voice into inspiration for a post of my own. I also believe I have a case of morality-on-the-brain (and I am highly unqualified to suffer from this vociferous affliction).

Please read beyond the disjointed introduction. The post all comes together in the end...as it all falls apart.

Is it moral to indulge unrequited love?

I love someone. I've loved this person for the longest time, lifetimes probably. I only recently realized that loving him was slowly creeping toward the fatal error of "falling in love".

"Well, why not fall in love?", you ask. That sounds like a beautiful thing, a blessing for a new year that is going your way.

Could be, maybe even should be. But this is one of those loves that garners him everything he needs or wants from me, provides me with an infinite supply of charitable karma points--but no tangible rewards, and uses up all of my social energy tokens (leaving me drained of the will to find a real relationship for myself).

Before I go on, let me say this in his defense: He has never offered me anything more than his friendship. In fact we have sort of had "that talk"...the one where he subtly lets me know I do not qualify for anything more. (Good love-puppy! You have defended him at your own expense very well...now get back to the point)>>>

Well, before I get to my point, let me share the beautiful post I stumbled upon:

From PM's World blog (http://peacefulmuslimah.wordpress.com/):

A Woman Scorned: Unrequited Love And An Avalanche 12/30/07

One of my favorite operas is a rare one — perhaps largely due to its competition from the likes of Puccini, Verdi, Wagner and Mozart — or perhaps because its most tragic scene, the finale in which the ill-fated love meets its demise in no less spectacular way than a Tyrolean avalanche is a stage manager’s nightmare. But nonetheless La Wally is the one opera I have wistfully dreamed of seeing once before I die.

The story might remind you of some of the early film classics: Wally, a young Alpine lass runs away to escape the marriage her father has arranged for her with Vicenzo Gellner. She falls in love with a huntsman Giuseppe Hagenbach from a nearby village who is engaged to another, while Vicenzo’s love remains steadfast and uinrequited. In a calculated flirtation to win Giuseppe away from his betrothed, Wally dances with him and allows him a kiss, not realizing that he is toying with her emotions with the full knowledge of the villagers. Once aware, she seeks retribution by sending Vicenzo to kill Giuseppe as a kind of proof of his love. He does so by pushing Giuseppe off a cliff, but upon hearing of the deed Wallly has second thoughts and rushes to the site, where miraculously she discsovers Giuseppe has survived. He recovers and pledges his love for her right there on the edge of that snowy, unstable ravine and just as he sets off to find a path down from the precipice he is overtaken by an avalanche at which point Wally leaps to her own snowy death.

Enjoy Ebben? ne andrò lontana by Maria Callas
[my addition of a YouTube link in place of PM's embedded (for space)...you should listen, it's captivating].

Starting Over with My Unrequited Point

Is it moral to indulge unrequited love?

My point is to ask if there is something selfishly over indulgent about letting another human feed off your energies--your generosities, your belief in and love for that other?

In my case, am I encouraging another being to take without the grace of giving in return?

Let me frame this by saying that I am not talking about reciprocity. This kind of giving, giving to indulge my own love interest, is not giving that begs for reciprocity--at least not in the tangible sense of the word. This is giving that seeks to bolster the other, without thought for favors done in return. (Though it most certainly may seek love-returned, even if not consciously.)

What are the karmic implications of fostering taking? Even if it is self-generated, what is the implication of helping another drain you?

Is this just the sewing of a future karmic nightmare for you both? You because you failed to love yourself; the other because they take advantage of what is given.

My switch to the proverbial "you", away from addressing myself and what I am doing, lets me know I have no answers to these questions. Maybe someone else can offer input.

I think the immorality is almost certainly my own.

I'll leave this topic to rest...at least for now.