Do nothing: the two most pleasing words on some days.
On a regular basis, I love giving myself the permission to not act, to not react, to not do. I give myself space, lots and lots of empty space. There are no words, thoughts or deeds trying to fill it. Simply, a spacious room with the sun streaming in, where I can meander aimlessly, guiltlessly, savouring the feeling of nothingness.
On these days, I just am. Incoherent, if need be. Poetic, if that’s what chooses to form. Shapeless, fluid, whimsical. There is a relief in these moments, to occupy space in an unplanned manner. It’s a sort of freedom, to see what form I do take, prepared to reject if I don’t like what I see, ready to accept if that’s what juices the senses. Trusting something outside of me because I have suspended all of my faculties.
Do nothing. I want a tee-shirt with this emblazoned on it boldly. It’s a revolutionary call in this day and age, where the urge is to squeeze in more than is desirable or even possible. Instead of the overstuffing, I recommend deflating. Let the air out. Quieten the noise around. See what reveals in the space. It’s a good life practice.