Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!
The art of monkery continues as I try to adapt eastern ways into a chaotic western world. The act has been a trial and has caused major irritation at times but I have persevered. I have to say that generally, my sleeping pattern has improved. I am now tired and ready for bed at 11 P.M and
up like a lark coming round at 7 A.M. I’m not sure this is going to be a good thing when it comes to parties or going away on holiday though.
“Sorry, off to kip now – gotta keep up with my ritual.” Followed by, “Morning! Everybody up! It’s 7 A.M and I’m bored!”
This is the part I’ve been struggling with. In my second lesson on how to monkery, I was advised that the best time to meditate (which anyone who has followed this blog over the years knows I have failed at continuously) is in the morning when you first awake. See, you’re already partway there, right? Perfect. That made sense to me. If I’d have known this years ago I might have mastered meditating by now. Be still in that moment and centre. Surely I could manage that?
No. It appears not. One of two things happen:
I fall back to sleep or I wonder if that’s the glass bin people I can hear coming down the street and dammit, I forgot to put the glass bin out. I wonder if the neighbours have done it? Wait! Back to centre. Stop thinking. And nothing, yes let’s think of nothing. Stillness. God, my heartbeat is loud. I can hear it in the pillow. Am I going to have a stroke? I’m sure I read somewhere that lots of people die in the morning. OH MY GOD – Please don’t let me die. Perhaps if I stretch a bit it will go away. OW! What’s that pain in my calf? Maybe it’s a clot and that’s why my heart’s going bonkers. Boiling. I’ll take the covers off. And breathe… that’s better. Cooling off. Right back to nothing… Freezing. Brrr, covers back on. Why am I not able to regulate my body temperature like normal people? I’m like a lizard. Maybe David Icke was right. You don’t see lizards meditating – they run about like mad things. Right, this isn’t working and now I’m getting annoyed which is not part of the monkitation.
Now you should chant. Nope. No.
Talking of Dying…
The next thing you are supposed to do is ‘embrace death’. Errr, no thank you very much. I’ve just been through that hideous possibility and that didn’t go well. What a horrible thing to do. Why do I want to start my day with such morbidity? According to the monk, this helps you be grateful for your life because today isn’t promised. Great, Mr Cheery. Let me start my day off by thinking I could die – that’s helpful.
I totally skip this and instead acknowledge that I am grateful to be here and if it could stay like that, that’d be pretty awesome, thank you.
Chore Towards More
Once you’re up and over all that malarkey you have to do chores. Start with making your bed – but with intention. Neatly. Tick. Got that one nailed. Then get on with other chores that need doing. Well, I am a master at this already as I cannot get to work whilst my kitchen is in chaos. I make sure all of it is gleaming and then I get on. I once read that if you only clean your kitchen sink absolutely perfectly the rest of your day will be productive. Something like that, anyway. I have always done this. I guess it’s much like making your bed, if you start your day by being methodical and tidy then you will give the same attention to everything else. Clearly, this monk hasn’t met anyone like me.
Do Something Nice Twice
This is next. I feed the dogs. Job done.
Trying to make all of this work in my world is entertaining but that’s what life is about. You take something and you make it work the best you can for you. There’s no way I’m shaving off my eyebrows or hair so it’s a matter of compromise. I am totally prepared to get an orange frock but designed on my terms.
However, I have since found a monkery rule that I quite like. Perhaps I liked what they called it more than anything because it’s very ‘Art Philosophy’ but I have found that this particular exercise is very pleasant and works a treat.
Sleep In A Sea Of Merit
How lovely is that? The monk says that this is what you do when you go back to sleep. I mean, he went through a few silly things like sleeping on a hard bed so you want to get up in the morning and keeping the TV and computers/phones out of the room but I have an issue with pillows being perfect so I can’t do that and I like to have rain sounds playing whilst I go to sleep so, no.
But, as you lie in bed waiting for sleep to arrive you have to think of things you have done this day that have been good and are of merit. This then means you go to sleep thinking positively about yourself and your day and will wake up feeling the same way like a chirpy Snow White.
What we tend to do is lie in bed worrying about the things we didn’t do. Bugger, I forgot to pay my car tax. I must remember to do that in the morning. And I must book my car in for its MOT. Mind you, I’m not a fan of that garage anymore, every time I take it in something goes wrong with my car two weeks later. I hope that rubber brush I ordered comes tomorrow then I can clean the back of the cab out whilst I’m at the dog park. That bloke from the garage looks a bit like Avery from Nashville. I’m glad him and Juliette got married. I wonder when the next episode of 1883 is out? I need to download that tomorrow. And check if season 5 of Yellowstone has been picked up. Can’t live without Rip. Maybe the monk could take a few lessons from him. That Taylor Sheridan is a good writer yet you wouldn’t think it to look at him. I’ve got to stop watching Western stuff. Maybe I should write another to get it out of my system. But then I have an idea for something else. Maybe I should do that. Or just not do anything and go travelling. I need to see the northern lights. And I quite fancy the Scilly Isles. Or Costa Rica. Long time on a plane though. Don’t know if I can deal with that anymore. I wonder if monks have a thing for that? David Attenborough goes all over the place and he’s 95. That Green planet is a good show. I’ve got a whole new respect for plants now. Mind you, I’m a bit fearful of my salad. And the plants in my house. I need to water them. Knowing my luck, when I die I’ll find out that God is a large triffid. I’ll get to heaven and he’ll say – ‘Right, what happens now is we treat you just like you treated your plants so you’ll only get water every 3 weeks.’ Perhaps my plants hate me and are sending vile toxins into the air to kill me because I keep forgetting to water them. Maybe that’s why my heart’s beating fast…
And that’s why you then have nightmares about Beth from Yellowstone turning into a giant Venus Fly Trap and eating David Attenborough off the coast of Cornwall.
Sleeping in a sea of merit is definitely the way to go.