22 July 2018 2.55 p.m.
This morning I changed priorities, opted for leaving aside oil and lemon juice and started my day with meditation: facing the salad of the mind without the help of a dressing.
Awful to realize how I lost what I didn’t use enough. The monkey mind had time to train for a Cirque du Soleil-worthy performance: forty-five minutes of juggling urgent, practical commands, such as:
1. Must boil hard eggs for Hub. Rinse in cold water for easy peeling. Check whether there’s a can of anchovies left.
2. Urgently inject special poison into woodworm tunnels in front leg of easy chair. Before worms (larvae!) grow wings and fly everywhere. You bought that “emergency” spray can days ago.
3. Loosen waist on new pale blue linen outfit so you can combine breathing and wearing it – it is hot-weather-only outer-wear, acquired two weeks ago.
Mere three juggles out of what? 100 maybe? or 3000? Evidencing clear entrapment in:
1. Wife: Doing things out of loving concern.
2. Housewife: Responsibility for upkeep of stuff.
3. Woman: Concern for beauty and survival. Another major category:
4. Writer: Enamored with streaming beautiful words, poignant expressions, new fun concepts. Ha!
Surprisingly enough, though I thought it was an inglorious exercise, this morning’s meditation came up with the above insights, doubled the white light, calmed me down and, most importantly, cheered me up no end. What a treat to sweep those leaves and wipe the terrace table!
I feel like the fairytale princess trapped in that tower. She’s finally caught a glimpse of her tormenter who keeps her captive. She’s seen him dance around the fire and sing a song. She’s captured four magical words that might give away his identity. She’s determined to find out her self-created frenemy’s full name. Too bad he’s kaleidoscopic like life itself, which she thinks is fun and worth living. It explains her frenemy relationship. But naming is shaming is holding power. The captive princess wants to reclaim her power over her own mind.
Yesterday, in the shade of the carob tree, she – (suddenly third person sounds more natural. Or is it the title I want to hang on to?)– but this is a journal, so logic says back to:
I read aloud an FT article to Hub. (“How insta-bae are you?”, “Unlike their parents, who strove to accumulate things, Japan’s millennials are pursuing Instagram-ready moments. Leo Lewis and Emma Jacobs report on what the experience economy says about a generation.” FT page 18, 14/15 July 2018)
Amazingly, one mediocre meditative attempt bore immediate fruit: it inspired a most gratifying realization. The following words regarding my e-book emerged post-ready in my mind:
“Excited to learn from the FT that my e-book “Wild Sea-Salt” is IT in our new experience economy where people are fed up with accumulating stuff – they want to collect experiences. “Wild Sea-Salt” is right on target: it allows you to test a technique for creating experience after experience – thrilling or shattering – soul-generated, profound and life-changing!”
Never better said in fewer words.