Brain Fog Log

I am trying to sit with myself, and watching thoughts fly apart. 

There's a fine line between self – awareness and self – analysis, like the fine line between medicine and poison. Quantum physics introduced the concept that observation itself is an action that impacts the phenomena observed. I heard that for the first time at 10 or 12 years old and understood it instantly; I have known that truth throughout the duration of my emerging and mature adult lives.

And yet, we cannot stop looking.

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This quote came across my feed today:

"To explain – there was a talk at the SohoCreate festival in London, in which artist Yinka Shonibare was in conversation with other leading figures from art and architecture. The panel discussed what they understood creativity to mean, and how it can survive in an increasingly cut-throat and capitalist London. Somebody then asked how the panel spent their days. At which point Shonibare mentioned, dead casually, that he only works three days a week "because I need at least one day a week to just stare into space and achieve absolutely nothing". At this point, everyone went a bit quiet.

Here we were, at the heart of a hungry, competitive city, finding out that one of its power players, who has been awarded an MBE, an honorary doctorate from the Royal College of Art, and been made a member of the Royal Academy, was all for having a bit of a rest. It stopped me in my tracks."

The quote is from a Guardian article, the rest of which is not worth quoting because the author goes on to make fun of the concept and herself in an oh so British fashion. Can you say white Anglo-Saxon Protestant work ethic?

The part she missed, and misunderstood, is that "rest" is not the same as doing whatever you want to. To "do nothing", you first need to know how to do nothing. Which is why so many detailed proscriptions come with Shabbat.

But then, I don't know how to do nothing either.

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At Girl Scout hiking camp, we found ourselves the sole users of a small valley campsite. After half the day had passed with no sign of any other groups, one of my counselors took off all her clothes.

Within 10 minutes, a set of 20-something young men hiked into the valley on the path that took them within 15 feet of where she was trying to take a nap on a log.

They asked if she was Swedish.

It took me years to figure out why anyone would ask my olive-skinned, bucktoothed counselor with the butch brunette hair chop if she was Swedish. Truth be told, I am still not quite sure.

She raised both eyebrows at them, succintly and clearly said, "No", and put her head back down on the log and closed her eyes.

I have made enough progress, in the 30 years intervening, to be in awe of that young woman's "don't give a damn" self-possession. At the time, it was just incomprehensible, the sort of thing a kid can't even think about.

I still remember that valley. I go back there every time I'm put through another useless meditation that tells me to remember being a child in a place where I felt at peace.

There was a tree branch there big enough for me to stretch out my legs on, and I was hidden alone on it for about 40 minutes.

No one among us was supposed to leave sight of the other girls. I did it twice.
The first time, I just went walking and got lost. It could've been bad. I knew how bad it could've been. I found my way back on my own before I was missed.
So, the second time, I went for a destination. I went for the tree we had found the day before as a group.
I got myself up on that branch.
And, for about 40 minutes of my young life, I was unaccounted for with no danger or consequences.

So that's where I go, when someone wants me to try going to "a safe place I remember being." Because they sure don't want me to visualize being drunk, which is the other option.