Lessons of Stillness ~ COVID19 ~ And Now

A Different Kind of Easter

Right now, it's 8:10 a.m. Calvin is upstairs practicing K.576. Mary is reading at the kitchen table. I'm staring at a bunch of yellow tulips from Kowalski's. The sunlight is streaming in the window, though there are still many patches of snow on the hill. I'm drinking a cup of Door County Amaretto coffee with half and half and an extra splash of Penzey's almond extract.

I guess it's week four of the stay at home order. Or something like that. Does anybody really know what time or day it is?

I'm reading two books ~ Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now, and Ryan Holiday's Stillness is the Key. Timely. All we have is now and there is a heck of a lot of stillness.

We listened to Easter services in our pajamas on the bedroom sofa. With the cats. One sermon moved me most. We will be different when this is over. We will all be different. None of us will be exactly the same. How do I want to be different?

There will likely NEVER be another time when Bill, Calvin, Mary and I will be alone in this house for this long. I really want to be here. Don't wish it away.

I remember the moment when the Stephens family, my mom, my dad, Susan and I were alone in the house last. It was 1997 after my grandpa Gene died. Susan and I flew home from Texas. After the funeral we were just all four there in my folk's log house, we walked on the frozen pond and ate rice pudding and just were together alone.

I'm spending close to seven hours a day on Zoom between lessons and meetings. How is that changing me, or how could I allow it to help me grow? The biggest thing is the gap. The gap between when one person talks and the other talks. Between when one person can play the piano and when the other person can play the piano. Interrupting on Zoom is impossible, the sound just cuts out when you try. We must simply wait for the gap. I'd like to use that gap to really think about what needs to be said next. Not that I have achieved this. Try to just let simple words sink in. Don't talk too much.

I'd like to give the gift of my attention.

To experience another person fully in the moment is a rare thing. To feel them engage with you, to be giving all their energy to you, as though there is nothing else that matters in the world, is rarer still.
R. Holiday pg. 24

Who is so talented that they can afford to bring only part of themselves to bear on a problem or opportunity? Whose relationships are so strong that they can get away with not showing up? Who is so certain that they'll get another moment that they can confidently skip over this one?
R. Holiday pg. 27

An artist is present. And from this stillness comes brilliance. This moment we are experiencing right now is a gift (what's why we call it the present). Even if it is a stressful, trying experience--it could be our last. So let's develop the ability to be in it, to put everything we have into appreciation the plentitude of the now.
R. Holiday pg. 28

So. . . that is what I'm trying to do.
The sun is a little higher than a little bit ago. Bill is now awake and unloading the dishwasher. Mary has gone up to start Zoom school. Calvin has moved on to the development of the first movement of K. 576. My coffee is a little lower. The tulips are still here.