In the morning I place a pinch of black tea in an ornamental iron Japanese teapot with some water, and pour it into one of those lovely iron outside/ceramic inside cups until it overflows–which I have placed on an altar of sorts I hung on my wall–while trying to feel gratitude for what I have, for the chance at another day. On the edge of the shelf I have a label which reads “Make each day your masterpiece”, which was a piece of advice John Wooden’s father gave me. [I wonder, actually: was John Wooden the most successful of the sons, or merely the most famous? Who changed the most lives for the better? He had, if memory serves, 6 brothers, all of whom became teachers.]
In the evening, I empty it, then write in my journal about some success, some feeling of pleasure, and/or some things for which I am truly grateful. I also try and vacuum my carpet, and make sure my kitchen is clean–dishes done, floor swept and as needed mopped. It’s so much more pleasurable waking up to an organized space even if, after a long and tiring day, doing that work seems incomprehensible.
These are small, small things. But they are telling. Did I, or did I not do them yesterday? Did I get drunk, for example, and let it all go? Did I get busy and have so much shit in my kitchen I said fuck it and left it all for some other day? Is my floor so cluttered it is impossible to vacuum? Etc.
For some of you, such a situation is incomprehensible. For many of us, though, they are very, very comprehensible. Particular men, and particularly men who live alone, if I might make so bold as to state what is generally obvious to both sexes?
Small things matter. This is really the core lesson of “Mindfulness”, which I have actually come to dislike as an overused, much abused word. It is like “compassion”. I just see it too much, so much that it has become a cliche denuded of meaning, like “racist”.
The question is this, though: are you awake, or are you sleeping? Are you present to the simple things, the simple truths, the simple pleasures which everywhere present themselves in the field of your life? Are you sipping life, tasting it as it presents itself?
This routine is a simple measuring tool, a simple metric. And do I feel resentment at these small impositions? Do I resent that part of me which is trying to help? How self indulgent am I? How childish? What barriers exist within me to more generalized pleasure and well being?