Seize the Day; a.k.a. The Magic of the Moment

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Seize the Day; aka the Magic of the Moment

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one. Voltaire.

The mid-afternoon sun was a lemon smudge in the sky as I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped over the threshold. A bell tinkled. A small man emerged from the dimly lit shelves. Glass jars filled with leaves of mossy green; nut brown
and ochre crammed every nook and cranny. I asked for ginseng and hibiscus. Master Li smiled, and gestured towards the leather covered armchair beside the tiny tea set in the corner. The next train left in thirty minutes. I had little time for fripperies.
What happened next was magic.

When you are present, the world is vibrant. When you are not, it is as though you sleep through life. When we think of magic, we think of unicorns, witches with cauldrons, hubbling and bubbling, toiling and troubling. Maybe we think of pre-pubescent British kids larking around in the Scottish Highlands. Few of us leap straight to washing the dishes, cleaning up the rubbish juice from the bin grooves, or weeding the garden. And, in fairness, why would you?

Chores. The bane of our lives. Gobbling up valuable free time, with which we would otherwise be producing works of art, or the novel that’s been on the back burner since little Bruce was born last… decade. Or maybe we would be out flying kites in the park, or jogging (I actually snorted some coffee there.) I don’t know about you, but whenever I have a decent chunk of free time, it seems to go by faster than a Nanjing Spring; and my novel just as ephemeral as it was when I was happily grumbling about dried-on oatmeal at the kitchen sink.

But lately, lately, the oatmeal has begun to speak to me. Ok, calm down. Not literally. It speaks to me in the same way that Master Li did, softly; slowly. His words flowed like the water that splashed over the leaves as he prepared a pot of ginseng tea. A smile lit up his face as he dashed the first pot of water into the bucket at his feet.

“Wash them, first,” he said, winking. The dried ginseng spun and whirled under the delicate stream emitting from the teapot.

He showed me how to boil the water once more, just ‘til the bubbles were mere suggestions of themselves on the surface.

“Watch them,” he said, his face calm now. We waited.

We shared three cups of tea. We did not speak of much. The leaves fleshed out and released their elixir. Steam curled in slow tendrils over the doll-sized teacups. Hot and spicy, the ginseng glowed inside me as I made my way back outside. Dusk had fallen and the streetlamps shone with fuzzy auras in the misty evening.

What the oatmeal, and Mr. Li are pointing at is this; being present does not mean sitting in the lotus position, legs crossed and smiling benevolently at all and sundry. It also does not mean being good; the stubborn oatmeal has no intentions in its barnacle attachment to the bowl, it is simply being. And it doesn’t mean removing oneself from the everyday magic of life.

Being time-conscious creatures, we are bound by the clock. The ability to reflect on past experiences allows us to make predictions about the future, and plan accordingly. This is what makes us unique as a species, this awareness of the passing of time. It has allowed empires to rise and fall, and for a catalogue of fear and anxiety to amass in the human psyche, should the lens of perception get skewed too far outside the here and now. Such a weighty trickle, the sands of time, if they accumulate upon our shoulders.

I am not just who I am right now at this moment, they whisper. I am a culmination of all events that have led to this precise moment in time embodied in me, myself, and I. In this world view, personality is cumulative, and all happenings are interrelated, informed by the past, conditioned by events outside of our control. This personality is also limited in what it can be or do, operating within such a narrowly defined parameter. I am what I eat, and say and do. Or rather, what I ate, and said and did. How dreadfully restricting.

Carrying the weight of this baggage, as well as fending off wild and unruly attacks from the barbarous universe is enough to make anyone feel worn out, the exact opposite of OK. Incidentally, that would be K.O., Knocked Out, flattened, defeated. And even these words are only pointers towards a deeper sensation of hopelessness, abstractions reaching in vain for a concept; a state of being (Alan Watts, “In My Own Way”). Living in the past or future frequently results in this overload of negative emotions. We cannot see the woods for the trees, so to speak. It all seems so complicated, so heavy.

Worldwide, suicide rates are rising. According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), almost 800,000 people die due to suicide every year, which is one person every 40 seconds. They also estimate that for every one suicide, there are 20 attempts at such. Suicide rates increased by 25 percent across the United States over nearly 2 decades ending in 2016, according to research published in June, 2018, by the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Lead researcher for the CDC, Dr. Deborah Stone, says that while there is no overall cause to explain the drastic rise in self harm, relationship issues and financial troubles seem to crop up regularly as main causes of suicide.

Last year alone, suicide knocked on the door of three of this correspondent’s close friends, their lost ones all male, all in the highest risk category which is males between the ages of 15 and 44. Suicide is now the second leading cause of death for males in this age group.

Depression and mental illness are also on the rise. As GDP and standards of living rise, so too does the Black Dog, and its shadow is hard to cast off. Anyone who has lived with depression, or watched a loved one in its clutches, knows the devastation it can wreak on a person, a home, a family. The Black Dog that walks in the shadow growls at those who would help. It is a vicious circle of isolation, loneliness and misery.

The Greater Good Science Centre emails this correspondent once a month to remind as to the courses it has on offer on The Science of Happiness. Is it now necessary to study kindness, compassion and resilience in the 21st century? Is happiness becoming a new skill to be learned and mastered? I consider taking a module on the science of happiness and well-being. I have a vague understanding of how serotonin makes us feel all warm and fuzzy. But then I stop, and ask myself, if I NEED to look so abstractly, through the veil of words and teachings? Isn’t it all supposed to be simpler? I look at the rows of eager faces in my classroom on this dull Friday afternoon, and a part of me hopes so, sincerely.

Harry, our Hogwartian jock, grapples with this very dilemma in his struggle to resist the temptation of the Mirror of Erised in The Philosophers Stone. I show not your face but your heart’s desire, reads the inscription on the mirror. Finding himself drawn to the mirror night after night, he reluctantly follows Dumbledore’s advice; “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live”.

Harry, despite his overwhelming desire to be with his parents, to live in the past, succeeds in dominating the urges of his mind, and living in the moment. And it is there that he finds true fulfilment. The lures of the past, nostalgia, regret… The oatmeal clings on, worrying not.

Similarly, the future is an irresistible bauble, almost in reach, forever just out of grasp. Yet no matter how hard we work, how much we sacrifice, how hard we strive, we never find contentment. Like the donkey chasing the carrot, we run until there is no breath left, never catching the moment of pride, of pleasure, in achieving our goals. If we are forever hunting down the future, the warm and fuzzy of the present is lost. What a great loss that is.

As with so many things in life, The Bard nailed it on the head in the simplest of terms; “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”.

And that is what my oatmeal started to articulate, as it clung to the side of the breakfast bowls, day, after day, after day. Just be here, it said, like me. There is a peace in just being. Let the future take care of itself, let the past rest in peace. The ordinary magic of life is everywhere. Be oatmeal. Cling stubbornly to the moment.

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Triona Ryan
Educator, writer, minstrel and Collector of Rare and Marvelous Moments; Triona Ryan, born in Ireland, moved to Spain for the summer back in 2003 and stayed for a decade. Now based in Nanjing, China, she spends her free time feeding her cats, picking cushions off the floor and pondering the paradoxes of the human condition. She also sings, often and everywhere.