For almost a week now, I have been doing nothing. It’s a retreat of a kind. A self-imposed retreat into, I could say, myself. Or Nature. Or a lack of routine. All of which will be true.
So I neither read nor write, nor cook or clean. No chores. Instead, I listen to the sounds around me. Birds in the early morning, in the afternoon, and then again in the evening.
I discovered that birds are loudest in the morning. Afternoons, the crows caw, but most others are either foraging for food far away or busy with other chores, so except for the occasional cheep cheep or toot, there is bird silence.
Instead, the cricket raises its amp; the wind whispers through leaves, and sometimes there is a rustle in the grass which makes me put my feet up, out of the way of whatever it is that likes rustling about in secret.
I have made some discoveries. That I hear better with one ear than the other… (needs looking into). The scent of the breeze in the morning is different from that which floats by in the evenings.
Part of doing nothing includes observing. So I watch a spider, as big as my fingernail, weaving its web. Drawing immaculate, straight lines and joining them with purpose and precision, creating a home that will be a storehouse and sanctuary. A craft learnt and practised through the eons, much before man learnt engineering or architecture.
And then there are the ants, walking across the courtyard, suspended on a wire. Carrying carefully a dead insect that they hold, balance, and ferry to the safety of firm ground, as they head to their hidden home.
Doing nothing should fill me with guilt; we are so used to swinging like monkeys, from one task to another, making ourselves useful, fulfilling our acquired roles as homemakers, workers in the job space, aspiring to climb the career ladder and reach that magic space called the top. But I feel no guilt. Instead, I realise how much I have been missing out on.
My senses have dulled; my eyes are more often than not limited to looking at what the tiny, backlit screen of my phone shows me; my ears listen to sounds made by others who may or may not have an agenda to influence me. The panorama of the universe remains unseen, the orchestra of the universe remains unheard.
Of course, I know I must pick up life where it paused and continue the trek through the days, weeks, and years ahead; their chores wait to be done; their demands wait to be met.
But hitting the pause button, I realised, is revitalising. Priorities change, anxieties diminish, and a sense of proportion is reclaimed. And along with it all…a sense of wonder; something we tend to mislay along the way.
Nothing changed when I did nothing. Nothing will change when I return to ‘normal’ life and pick up the threads again. It’s only our own egos that make us imagine that we, as humans, have achieved something. But have we indeed? Like the ant and the spider, we live our narrow lives and are gone. Like a breeze blowing past, or a rustling in the grass.