I sustained a delightful couple of hours of mindlessness, yesterday, and had a bit of a play with paints and brushes.
The end result isn’t very profound or meaningful, but the process was pretty special.
It was one of those rare moments when I managed to turn off the endless chatter of thoughts in my head—the critic, the sycophant, the worrier, the unhappy rationalist, the self-conscious amateur, the eager-to-please child, the pretentious dilettante—and slip through the little magical door of Now, into simply Being…simply Doing, firmly occupying the present moment and having the present moment occupy me: focused on nothing but the dabbing of paint on canvas, the playful building-up of lines and shapes, the aroma of the coffee, the sounds of the wind and water around the boat.
I felt a deep peace and calm as I worked, not caring what the outcome would be, not caring if turned out well or not, or whether anybody liked it (myself, included), not letting myself grow attached to any part of it. Just accepting the moment for what it was.
“More moments like this, please,” I urge my soul…when there isn’t a single additional thing that’s missing, that I want or need, to feel my life and existence to be absolute joy, perfect in every way…perfect just as it is.