I have observed and expressed certain events and evaluated the same.
|I’ve been called all kinds of things: mad, freak, obsessed, maniacal.|
Every once in a while, the occasional positive comes up: admirable beta, keep it up!
But by and large, this one habit of mine has evoked reactions of absolute incredulity: why and how in God’s name do you keep up with it?
It’s hard to explain the why and the how.
All I know is that for me, it’s like tradition. Without it, my day is incomplete.
It’s my body’s raison d’etre, my mind’s introspection.
I’ve postponed movie plans, declined invitations, pissed off friends, even turned down the family.
To do the same 40 minutes of the same thing every night.
Well, every night of every working day, that is.
Drag feet into home, fling bag on table, toss tea into microwave, sink deep into couch.
The body’s weary, the mind satiated. By the time the tea has done its job, it’s usually half past ten.
The cold would have seeped its way into the limbs, crippling any desire to move.
But the inertia is not strong enough to forsake what follows.
A bullish mind drags around an almost incapacitated, rather reluctant body.
Change into sweats, tie up hair, switch on the ‘mill, plug in iPod. And, let go.
First the fingers are cold, the toes are numb, the breath is chilled, the feet heavy.
Then the rhythm sets in, the speed increases, the body heats up, the mind focuses.
At some point, the effort dissipates; ‘auto-run’ switches on.
There’s loud music, the almost industrial sound of the treadmill being worked at a frenetic pace, the hectic beating of a hyper heart pounding to keep up.
And the sound of a deep, endless, overwhelming silence.
A silence that washes over the fatigue of the day, engulfs its impurities, embalms its pain.
Hushes the mind, subdues its cacophony.
Empties it out, opens it up and readies it for another day.
In those 40 minutes at night, I balance out the 12 hours of the day when the mind is hyperactive and the body is inactive.
In many ways, it’s 40 minutes of meditation; a meditation that reveals a wonderful truth.
The mind, in a supremely focused, concentrated state, ceases to waver. And this steadiness of mind, the singularity of purpose brings about an unqualified ‘peace’.
This revelation makes me wonder, if we were to do everything in life with such absolute focus, wouldn’t every action be a meditation?