From Toilets to Virginia Woolf
Image by StockSnap from Pixabay
“I peed standing up!” a male friend proclaimed defiantly as he walked outside holding another beer. Having lived with me for a time, he knows my predilection for the sanitary and his devious grin told me that he just might have intentionally left the situation untidy.
What men fail to realize about their bathroom escapades is that it isn’t the drops on the seat, but rather, the ureic streaks running down the bowl of the toilet that go unnoticed. Being more observant than is pleasant, my eyes lock in on these things and won’t let go until all is put back in order.
Isn’t that true of life? We notice what falls into the pattern of what we’ve been taught to observe. But, what about all the nuanced detail that exists in our lives? I wonder how much I fail to see. As I’ve allowed myself to be swept away by the tasks of life, my view has become more myopic, focusing in on the things in front of my face; the fabricated demands that require my attention now.
In an effort to be more observant, I have tried to slow down, providing myself with the opportunity to absorb what is around me. It has become hard for me to be still, to just sit. I am a doer and despite myself, I’ve been caught up in the manic way of the modern world. A sense of restlessness settles over me when I’m not accomplishing something; chores, gardening, reading, writing, exercising; something, I must always be doing something.
One of the many items on my checklist is to read more classic literature and I decided to read Mrs. Dalloway by Virgina Woolf. I got so frustrated in the first few pages by what seemed to be a distracted ramble, that I tossed the book down and headed to bed early! However, I am tenacious, I want to read and appreciate this great work. The next time I picked the book up, I slowed down and almost felt my brain click into a different gear. I race around in high gear and in order to appreciate this work a downshift was required.
Reading classical literature takes a different type of reader. I’ve been buried in fantasy books and non-fiction for some time now; the action is quick and the facts straight forward. Mrs. Dalloway is something else entirely. There are no chapters, and the pages drift from one character to the next, getting lost in their thoughts about the surroundings. To be honest, it’s been a bit hard for me to follow.
The writing is beautiful though. There have been sentences that cause me to pause and ponder. Finding these literary gems reminds me that I ought to slow down and enjoy the splendor that is around me; not everything is an A to B dash.
I once loved reading poems. But now they baffle my mind and I finally understand the befuddled state others have described when trying to read poetry. I trust that with practice and a little down shifting, I’ll once again be able to open the part of my mind that gaps in wonder while reading. I crave that sensation when a line hits me just right and I feel like I’ve been given a glimpse into the wonder of the universe. Where has the magic gone?
Why… it is all around me if I’d only take the time to appreciate it.
Cultivating Sunshine 