Nothing

So much to do,
So much to achieve…
Can I stop for a moment?
That’s hard to believe.

I work and I hurry,
I rush and I worry,
allowing the days
to pass by in a flurry.

It’s a joke - but a dark one;
a lie - and a stark one
that we tell ourselves
and repeat to our children:
The purpose of days is for us to fill them.

We can’t act as though there is nothing to do!
We can’t sit and do nothing - this cannot be true!

It is true. We can sit and do nothing.
We not only can, but we must.
There is nothing that we will take with us
When we each return unto dust.

Do nothing
for one precious minute.
Take your place
and settle down in it.
Put aside your phone -
Yes, just be alone!
And observe how you feel when you’ve finished.

But first:
See what restlessness stirs at the surface,
See the anger as it burns in its furnace,
See the sadness, the lost-ness, the ‘oops-I-forgot-ness’,
See it all in its glory.
And see… it’s all a story.

A minute transforms into an hour.
You can feel it now - your inner power,
Your stillness, your joy and your peace,
Your gratefulness, presence and ease.
You can sense yourself now
beneath all the commotion.
You unwind, you unfold -
You are stillness in motion.

You remember:
I am not a steel-covered, cog-wheeled machine.
You think:
There’s no mountain to climb, and no view to be seen.

There is me.
There is now.
There is life.
There’s the earth.
There’s no instrument out there to measure my worth.

There’s no audience eager to watch what I’ve done.
There’s no panel of judges to tell me I’ve won.
There’s no race track to run,
no ladder to scale,
no one peeps over my shoulder
to see whether I’ll fail.

It’s all just a story -
one we’ve been winding long.
A story that’s been nurtured
and that’s grown quite strong.
A story that’s travelled
deep into our minds…
But you know what?
That story is not mine.

I’ve been walking with someone else’s book in my hand.
I’ve been handed a recipe that’s tasteless and bland.
Yet I follow it, and insist that my dishes are grand!

I refuse to acknowledge I’m a grain in the sand.

I’m as much of this earth
as a wave on the shore.
I can sit by the water
and want for no more.

I can rest
and reflect,
I can make my own choice.
But to do this,
I must first
listen to my on voice.

I must take a blank page,
start to write my own story -
one that’s not dripping
with exhaustion and worry.

And, most crucial of all,
I’ll leave some pages blank
as I rest here
outstretched by the riverbank.

Here:
I do nothing at all
but watch lightly and listen.
I do nothing but marvel
at all I’ve been given.
I’m just one waterdrop:
I do nothing but glisten.

Image by Benjamin Wedemeyer