Monday, February 23, 2015

Learning to Love the Least


Here I rest, here I stay, here I love, right now, today

I don't think we are born with the ability to love. To cling, to want, to need, to hunger, certainly. But it takes time and life to learn love. Recently, during a seemingly endless meeting and I acknowledge this was an odd setting for this thought, while feeling either bored or irritated with the endless discussion and debate about minute and abstract concepts, and simultaneously beginning to despair that humans could ever argue about such things, I felt convinced that if I could learn to love this (where this refers to the present non-loved and possibly irritating source of the present experience of not being in a state of loving), then this would be whole, memorable, and worthy of the expenditure of the minutes of life measurably slipping away while this was occurring. More, it would be (by the definition of "love") something that I wanted, needed, was sustained and enriched by.

I, one, would have to learn that skill. To learn to love this, the least of the day, the small and plodding moments of work structure, project passages, task completions, small tickmarks on minor ledgers of the sideline conversations of all us unimportant personages of middling economic and social standing, the sparse filings forming ghostly lines above weak magnets, the windblown confetti of the shredded receipts of the political and economic penstrokes of the powerful rustling round unremarkable meeting rooms on the dead on Monday. If I could learn to love this, the least things, that would unlock it. 

The thought that if I would it would mean that I could felt for a little while as if I did. I guess I don't, but this experience of loving the least made me wonder why that might be so, and if it wouldn't be some sort of fulfillment to love this always, even when it may seem like the least.

I was standing in the median photographing my bike sitting against a saguaro amongst the daisies and I wondered what a policeman might think if one saw me, when one rolled by.

   

2 comments:

  1. In the same vein, I highly recommend the film "Into Great Silence." Its about a Carthusian monastery in the French Alps. Barely any dialogue, but watching the monks move though their day in a quiet, deliberate, loving manner was inspiring. It reminds me to do just one thing at a time, and do it to completion. And that even the most mundane task (sew a robe, split wood/make coffee, change a flat) can be done with love and quiet joy.

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    1. Thanks Nathan, I'll look out for that film. There are many aspects of monastery life and monks that appeal to me: the solitude, the contemplation, the devotion, the discipline, the focus, the meditative life, the minimalism, the quiet, the community, the love of god. However, the 3am wake-ups and if I'm honest the vow of chastity I don't think I could hack.

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