Guilty consciousness

Yesterday, I swam for the first time this year. When I got in, the water was freezing and that was to be expected. The news is that for once I didn't mind the cold. You heard me well. I dealt with the cold like I deal with thoughts nowadays: like things that come and go. I went ahead, shivering. Then the water became warm and then it became cold again and I stayed.

I live next to the sea, a noisy road and a brothel. The brothel is called Sloop and you can see mops and children's clothes hanging at the back of the building. It used to make me sad. I also live next to a 40-metre pine tree. If the pine were to fall, it could destroy this house. It used to worry me, but I see there's not much I can do about it now. I’ve always loved that pine anyway.

Every day I close my eyes and try not to think. Sometimes I pay attention to my toes, sometimes to the heavenly chirping coming from the tree. When I do that, thoughts come and go: random things that were in my mind before I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I try to focus on my breathing since it’s the only thing that happens all the time. But that doesn't work and I have to go back to my toes or the sounds from the birds or from big exhaust pipes on the busy road.

My breathing scares the hell out of me. I feel a piercing pressure on my chest when I become aware of how fragile the mechanism that keeps me alive is. As if I suddenly realised I'm walking on the edge of a cliff, wearing a pair of clown shoes and holding a stupid cocktail glass. I feel reckless for going about breathing as if nothing, guilty for not taking more care of it. I don't know if anyone else feels guilty about breathing and, as with the pine falling, I don't know if there's anything I can do about it. It's very possible I'm writing this to figure it out.

I’ve noticed my mind brings and carries away all sorts of feelings and thoughts. All the time, pretty much, unless I manage to pay attention to the sea, birds or exhaust pipes. Then it does it again, but this time I know what’s going on – I know it's just this funny old thing my mind does, and I go back to the sea, the pipes or the birdsong and start caring less and less about what my mind invites, cause it's not going to last.

The funny thing is that when I pay attention to chirping, sea or cars, they feel way more welcoming than any thought or shiver. But it's not really the birds or the cars or the sea that feels cozier. It's the person who pays attention to them. Well, not even her, cause she actually becomes irrelevant. Irrelevant in the best possible way, in the most overwhelming way. Overwhelming as if you were experiencing Stendhal syndrome: you don't think about yourself when facing wonders. But, again, it's not about having wonders in front of me, either, because yes, I like the sea and the pine and the chirping, but the brothel and the cars used to make me kind of sad. So maybe it’s not about how nice the things that surround me are, but about the action of leaving behind all those fleeting thoughts and feelings of cold or sadness. As if I were returning to the solid, warm place I inhabited before this one, where there is nothing for me to do or feel other than the joy of being. Being in the most painless, immaterial, humble and absolute way of all.

So, yes, it was a nice first swim. Today, the sea isn’t swimmable, but I hope you understand there's not much I can do about the sea, the tree or the Sloop. I guess that's what got me into closing my eyes and trying not to think in the first place. Well, the cozy space is available anytime... and there's nothing for me to do there anyway, so apart from my breathing guilt, I reckon everything is fine.