rest: an active verb

I meant to write this entry over a week ago, when it was actually applicable to my life. But nevertheless, it's still a valuable chunk of food for thought.

Before reading Anne Lamott, I had never really seen the psychological value in silence. Sure I knew that 8 hours of sleep was important so you didn't pass out in 2nd hour and I knew that taking a 30-second water break in the middle of a race is a generally encouraged resting point. But I had never considered the benefits of rest, of stillness, just because. Anne Lamott (who if you haven't read are missing out possibly the best nonfiction writer of the 21st century) talks a lot about the value of scheduling rest. No TV, no music, just laying flat on your back and breathing in the silence of life. I had always assumed that this sort of rest was synonymous with napping. Well, let the myth be shattered, my friends. Napping leaves you, while slightly rested, usually more groggy than when you started and in my case leaves awkward lines all over one side of my face. But a few Saturdays ago, I had the day free of homework, a boyfriend, and the majority of any other distractions. I layed on my bed, flat on my back, with my eyes closed. I slowly let my brain drain itself of the gunk that I too often let get clogged in the pipes of my mental sanity.

For that 30 minutes or so, I experienced a calm that has been missing from my life for quite some time. It was an act of prayer, without words. I just let myself be. I let the stillness wrap itself around me like an old shawl and I took time to just not take time for anything. And now, as my head gets gunky again and my life starts to spin itself into events rushing at me like bullets from a machine gun, I try to draw on that shawl to protect me from the deadly penetration of being rushed.