NOTHING / MAJOR
new poem
I think poetry lives here — in the tension between what seems insignificant and what we’re too afraid to name. A minor gesture. A major ache. A wish we haven’t figured out how to say out loud. This is a little poem I wrote last week.
NOTHING / MAJOR I speak of nothing major— just the ordinary breaths we take for granted, and the flowers that frown upon us for rushing by. I speak of nothing minor— just the dark fog of depression hovering above my head, tugging at the light like an impatient child. I do nothing major— just sit on the roof watching the stars flinch from the city’s glow, waiting for a falling one to grant a wish I haven't come up with yet. I do nothing minor— just shrink the world enough for it to nap in the cradle of my palms. I do nothing. For once, the phone stays facedown.
I’m the worst when it comes to doing nothing. Last year, I actually tried to practice it — sitting still, no distractions. Suddenly, even cleaning the windows felt like a worthwhile task. I ended up reading How To Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell and still haven’t figured it out… Have you?
Lots of love,
Tania
Thank you for the lovely poem. I love the juxtapositions of major and minor, the sweeping range from personal to global… The sacred reminder/rehearter that doing nothing is doing something essential. I too am a poet, and a professional poetry curator and editor, and I know beautiful poetry when I find it. Happily subscribed!
As to learning to do nothing peacefully, yes, I am actually getting quite good at it! The first time I learned this was when I was 37 and pregnant with baby number two and I was forced to go on bedrest for four months. At the time I had been feeling like I was burning a candle at both ends and all along the edges too, and saying to the universe that I wished I had more time to just relax and do nothing. Be careful what you ask for, right?
So the first two weeks, I was laying there in bed, in a home we had just purchased, boxes had not yet even all been unpacked, and I felt very sorry for myself and spent weeks making lists. The monkey mind just would not shut the F up!
List of casseroles people could make. List of people I could contact for help. List of books I wanted to read. People I wanted to write letters to. Movies I wanted to watch. Ways to keep my toddler busy so I could stay horizontal. Lists of lists!
Then one day, as I was gazing out the window watching raindrops roll down the pane, I suddenly let go of it all … and surrendered.
I found the gift.
I found my yin.
I embraced, and allowed myself to be embraced by, the softness, the sweetness, of just being.
And it’s a good thing too because I am someone who has chronic illnesses that come and go and have had to spend quite a lot of time bedbound or housebound. So, yeah, I would say I’ve gotten quite good at doing nothing!
Perhaps it helps that I have been a meditation teacher in various settings from Kaiser Permanente, teaching mindfulness and East West meditation for busy people to shamanic, angelic, yogic meditation in spiritual awakening courses and retreats.
Nowadays, I mostly write and edit—other people‘s content and my own, thousands of poems—this in it itself is for me a meditation, too, doing something with plenty of breaks to do nothing.
wow, i love this, especially the imagery of stars “flinching”.