When there’s not enough time, go slowly.
Thich Nhat Hanh
My default mode has always been slow but as I get older it seems to be slowing down even more, occasionally grinding to a halt – physically at least – while I notice my mind/emotions are often still fizzing away faster than I can keep up with. I tell myself this tension is juicy and creative, worth staying with and acknowledging. The truth is I’m bored with the ins and outs of my thoughts, endlessly whirring, trying to catch my attention and trap me in their net. I mostly try to just get out of the way and minimise distraction and intoxication. I’ve come to know I need great swathes of Nothing to locate myself in and feel at ease, capable of deep thought.
There is a sense just now in our global culture that time is speeding up and everyone is rushing to pack more in. This means they (we) have shorter and shorter concentration spans, which isn’t good news for writing, or for relationships. We need to work against this impulse to prevent it turning into an unhelpful habit. One of my teachers, Ajahn Sucitto says: If you can’t pay careful attention to it, is it worth doing?
It's a good idea to practise taking a pause, regular pauses, to meet whatever’s arising – inside or outside – rather than crashing into it. This is good advice and sounds simple, but it’s quite hard to follow.
Ajahn Sucitto encourages us to notice what’s behind our compulsions and reactions – is it anxiety, irritation, anger, grasping? And to widen our attention to take in the bigger picture, the space we’re in, other beings, the elements.
You don’t need to make an impact, impose yourself on a situation. Pause. It’s not all about getting your own needs met. You can notice your suffering rather than keep reacting to it. Pause. Stay open.
I found this train of thought – still so relevant – in another old notebook (see previous post…) – this one from a retreat some years ago on Death, Dying and the Deathless. I gathered all of Ajahn Sucitto’s words of wisdom in a little book I made from old florist papers and cut-up artwork. I keep it close by and whatever page I turn to I find something useful wherever I am in that moment.
I’d hope that what I write might be like that – reaching out from the page into a passing reader’s mind and heart, touching them wherever they are. I certainly felt that while I was down in Birmingham for Verve Poetry Festival – immensely touched by so many poets turning suffering and loss into luminous, searing texts that bring us all together; especially hearing it from their own mouths, their unique voices freighted with tenderness and clear seeing, interspersed with generous, necessary amounts of silence.
My whole body tingled listening to Nicole Sealey (whose Ferguson Report: An Erasure took her , she said, ‘six years to write and ten minutes to read’), Hanna Silva, Marjorie Lotfi, Alice Hiller and Rebecca Goss. I was inspired and provoked in equal measure by the panel on Out of Time: Poetry from the Climate Emergency, chaired by editor Kate Simpson. And in the workshop space, I luxuriated in the privilege of going through a process of transformation with a wonderful group of fellow conspirators. ‘Time was away and somewhere else’ and I was happy for it to stay there.
But all good things come to an end – as do poetry festivals (and geological epochs…). And so, back at home, I’m trying to find what rhythm my body needs now it’s the end of February and, after tomorrow’s leap in the dark, into March and whatever this spring will bring. Isn’t rhythm built from pauses, silence, white space? As important as the words in between. Create a proper form, says Ajahn Sucitto, and pour yourself into it: cultivate intentionality, commitment and responsibility.
God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify in the body’s peace
God or whatever means the Good.
From Louis MacNeice’s ‘Meeting Point’
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One reliable rhythm is the Moon in its shifting phases and it’s nearly time again for the Writing into Being Writing Hour, a little way ahead of the coming New Moon. If you’d like to join us, please subscribe to this newsletter (so I have your email) and leave me a note in the Comments below. We’ll be gathering on Wednesday 6th March 4 - 5 pm GMT to write out of and into our time.
Thank you for reading.
Go well,
L
x
Hi Linda
I'd love to join you for the writing hour. Cheers, Branwyn (branwyn@fastmail.net)
Hi Linda. My email address is cmjohn0107@gmail.com. I write as C M John, but my name is Celia Carrington. Sorry for the confusion.