Meditation (and the art of the moment)

 

Every so often, a cool summer breeze will pick up the scents of the freshly laundered clothes that are hanging outside to dry. In fact, there isn’t much that captures a moment as well as Downey in the air as clothes dry outside on an April day.

Some things… things that strike one of your senses… that can carry you away. They just capture a moment, and can almost hypnotically take you over. It’s not that you are necessarily trying to meditate or daydream or zone out, but there is a trancelike way it pulls you in.

Friend of mine says fresh bread baking captures him all the time. If he walks into a good bakery, he’s doomed to the bliss that results.

Another friend speaks of her gardens in late June. She takes pride in her yard, and has set up various areas with flowers that bloom at different times so there is always something visually striking from early spring until late fall. That said, in late June, for about two weeks, all of the gardens seem to be popping with a thick and wonderful assortment of colors. Irises and lilies and roses and more open at the same time. (I’ve seen it, and she’s right. The entire yard is beautiful throughout the year, but to experience it in late June is just brilliant.)

People love music. Some might talk about visiting a park and the sounds of everything from children playing to geese on a lake.

I can close my eyes and still remember the first time I ever had a chance to pet a dolphin. Heck, I can recall every opportunity I’ve had to pet a dolphin.

When I was growing up there was a commercial… “Calgon, take me away.” The idea expressed does a decent enough job of covering what we are discussing. I believe they still use the slogan in a variety of ways, though the ad campaign isn’t as frequent in recent decades.

I’m not talking about things that you necessarily have to create or force yourself into experiencing. Instead, even an accidental exposure can set off the senses.

My grandparents were very rarely in the kitchen together. I mean, they never cooked at the same time. With one exception.

French pork pies.

They made a pork pie that was… well… a slice is Heaven on Earth to me.

My mother has the recipe. I have it, too, truth be told. When she makes it, and I have a chance to take a bite, it borders on impossible to describe. Each and every time, I’m suddenly ten years old, sitting at a kitchen table, watching my grandparents cook.

There are all sorts of philosophies and more built on the idea of becoming lost in a moment. If you’re mowing the lawn, it’s the smell of the fresh cut grass, the feeling of the lawn mower as the blades spin, the sound of the engine, the sight of your path as you move along, and more as you disappear into the chore and almost become oblivious to all else around.

The list of things that might bring you to a complete stop, wrap you up, and transport you someplace beyond where you physically are will be different than the list of things that can do the same to me. But there is something to be said for wrapping yourself in a moment. (Especially if it’s a slice of pork pie.)

 

If you have any comments or questions, please e-mail me at Bob@inmybackpack.com