I wrote my previous post before I knew that the train crash in Philadelphia was caused by high speed. Perhaps it was something in the air that made me feel this issue at that time. The idea for the blog entry came when I was sitting at a new coffee shop working on my novel. I looked up and saw a sign for the Slow Bar where this coffee shop offers pour-overs. I came to the coffee shop specifically to try a pour-over which had been touted by Ron of Concert Gild fame. (If anyone should know about coffee, it's the guy who hits three or four concerts a week and still manages to work a 9-5 job.) But when I didn't immediately see the pour-overs on the menu, I ordered my standby Cafe Americano. Had I missed the sign for the slow bar because I was going too fast?
However the theme began, my post about slowing down has taken on a new significance. I am not feeling so bad about the use of bad language and the invocation of Samuel L. Jackson now. It is horrible that this happened on a passenger train. Senseless. And yet I am so happy it wasn't one of the trains carrying crude oil through residential sections of Philly. I can't imagine the horror of that situation.
The point is that speed is something that is seductive. It is human nature to see how fast we can take a process. In sixth grade, I read an except from the book, Cheaper By The Dozen. The parents of the brood of twelve were efficiency experts. (Redundant, I know). It was their job to try to hone processes to get work done in the fewest number of steps and eliminate wasteful motion. They taught their children to be efficient as well. This story has stuck with me my whole life. I used to think about it when I was doing dishes. It echoed in the back of my head when I was multi-tasking by folding laundry and making phone calls or when I chopped all the vegetables needed for four meals instead of just the one I was making presently. I felt a strange pride when I ran errands and was able to consolidate trips--to the point that I go absolutely berserk if my husband tells me he is running to Home Depot to get a package of screws for a project. Going out on a five mile round trip, for one pack of screws? I feel as if he is mocking my whole religion.
I have an idea for a bumper sticker that says, "Get out of my way! I'm late for yoga." I am sure I could sell hundreds to those folks, we are speeding up to get to the place where we can slow down. It's bad when you need a time-out to figure out moments in my day where I can deliberately slow down. Where I can hone zen-like mindfulness by single-tasking. My brain has been begging for this for years. My poor brain has been going on all cylinders most days in a way that distracts me and causes me to make stupid mistakes. I know how it can happen. You speed along at twice the speed you should be going. Your mind is not engaged on your task but on the three other things you are thinking about. CRASH! This is where meditation becomes so important. My women's group engaged in a guided meditation last night after we had taken several weeks off of the practice. It wasn't easy getting my mind to stop its chatter, but it was sorely needed, and I am glad we took the time to do it together. Tonight, is the weekly Arden Sangha. I used to go to this meditation group when we first moved here, but the group fizzled. I loved going, and I also hated giving up a night of the week to sit around doing nothing. Seemed so counterproductive. But was it? I was meditating with my community. How often do you sit in a roomful of your neighbors and just be? I am glad they resuscitated the group. It makes sense to me to make slowing down into a practice. Today I will find one thing to do mindfully and slowly. I will do it with intention. Perhaps the only speeding train that I can stop will be the one in my head, but it will be a blow to suffering, one way or another.
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