So I was making porridge this morning.
Pear porridge + cold winter morning. Mmmmm. Cats meandering through the rooms. Children reading upstairs in their warm beds. Sunlight sliding in through the kitchen window.
As I cooked, I thought, I'll get a book to read, while I stir and stir. Something to do while doing, in the way people do.
I read about two paragraphs, and suddenly thought, Actually, no.
Actually, no thank you. (I'm always polite!).
Because reading, while Fine and Good (always), takes away—right now—from
The simple stirring. The movement of the spoon, circling. Then, doing figure eights, around, and around. Your hand light, the spoon light, your breathing even.
And the watching. As the oats lose their flake and flatness and become…something altogether different. As the pear moves in and merges, as the milk mixes, as the single pieces become a warm smooth One.
And you have the sounds around you. The whirr of the fridge. The lap lap of the cat's tongue finding water. The thump of someone's feet as they launch themselves upstairs, from bed to floor. The shift and creak of the dog in his bed. And the small sound of stirring, the simple hiss as the porridge moves with the spoon.
It's all in this moment. The world. You living in it. You: alive (alive!) and breathing. You, holding a spoon. You. Making something. You, aware, alert, attuned.
You. Here. Now.
There is nothing more
(and the porridge? Shared with my girl? While having breakfast with both kids? While reading out to them from a cool art book?
It was delicious :) )