Today was an ordinary day,
the kind when nothing big happens except a trip to Central Market. The kind of
day I enjoy, but also the kind that makes me think I have time to be
self-aware, to meditate, to, as some would say it, get in touch with myself. There
are lots of huge questions lurking in my mind, from what do I really want out
of life to how will I plot that next novel but I, like most of us, get so
involved in the daily-ness of life that I push those questions to the back of
my mind.
My brother recently told me
that he read that mindfulness, that state of living in the present
moment, observing your thoughts and actions as though from a distance without
judging them good or bad, inhibits creativity. Oops! There goes that. I need my
creativity, the right side of my brain. I’d have thought just the opposite—that
mindfulness would enhance creativity.
A certain sense of distance
is also one of the signs of anxiety—or at least it is to me. If I'm anxious I can feel as
though I’m watching myself drive to the store, walk through the vegetable
section, choose my dinner from the fish counter, joke with the guy at the
checkout register.
So who are we to believe? Is
it better to be in the present moment or experiencing it as an outsider? I
guess to my mind it’s better to be actively engaged in the present moment—as a
writer, I can store actions, events, feelings away for use later on.
On another but perhaps
related note, I’m reading a wonderful book titled God’s Hotel: A Doctor, a Hospital, and a Pilgrimage to the Heart of
Medicine by Victoria Sweet. Dr. Sweet worked for years at Laguna Honda, the
San Francisco hospital for indigent, incurable patients—the last almshouse in
the nation. To help her understand her patients, she studied the works of
Hildegard, the 16th Century nun who ministered to the poor.
Hildegard’s medicine was based on observation and the four humors—if an ill
person was too dry, he or she needed moisture; too wet, dryness was needed.
That’s a simplification of what was really a complicated set of medical
beliefs. But wrapped up in that—and in Sweet’s medical philosophy—is the
concept of holistic medicine: treat the soul as well as the body. Much of the
Laguna Honda philosophy and practice speaks clearly against modern medicine which divides
the patient into physical parts. Sweet saw few cures but some were remarkable; more, she
saw—and treated—the spirit of her patients. She saw them as people, not simply
as patients.
I’m trying in my mind to link
the Laguna Honda philosophy to the concept of mindfulness, and I guess what I
keep coming back to is the concept of distance. Why should we distance
ourselves from our lives—be it sickness, health, joy, sadness. I think we need
to live in the moment, experiencing it as fully as we can. And that in itself
is an art.
Rambling thoughts on a
Saturday night when I’ve had an exceptionally good dinner and a nice glass of
wine….
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