The difference felt stark because in the weeks since we moved, even the smallest acts have demanded my presence. No muscle memory could guide me through those transition times. I’ve lived the last month as an extended improvisation, one-time performances never intended for repetition. I’ve been feeling quite the clumsy performer, though I know I’m only experiencing mindfulness.

I’ve encouraged others to embrace mindfulness without fully recognizing that my advice might qualify as evidence of a certain mindlessness on my part. Mindfulness might not be the sort of experience one can simply muster. Perhaps it just occupies.

I can admit that moving musters a particularly powerful mindfulness in me. I have not yet learned if I should turn right of left to find the basement stairs, which means that I’ve been backtracking an awful lot in the few days since we moved in. I haven’t found all the pots and pans yet, so I soft boiled The Muse’s eggs in a frying pan yesterday morning. I can’t pre-consciously imagine the steps from here to anywhere. I have to show up and figure it out from few clues instead.

This feels encumbering, as if I’d traded my strong hand for a pathetically weaker one. This ineptness should pass after we’re unpacked and have successfully imprinted on the new space. I expect to extend a warm, relieved welcome as my previous mindlessness returns. And I also expect to more deeply appreciate how encumbering mindfulness can feel.

I’m hopeful to discover some mind-state short of fullness, one that I might access without losing my strong hand competence. That I’m even able to write this short piece, peg-legged as I am by my presently overwhelming mindfulness, suggests that I might be making some small progress.

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Homefull Homeless