In savasana last night, I imagined myself going “technology free” suddenly. Saying goodbye to the phones and the televisions, the blogs, Twitter and Facebook accounts that hang on me like screeching monkeys.
I imagined what an evening would look like– the savanna of night time from washing dishes time until bedtime. I would be alone with my hands and just paper and pen. Maybe my typewriter or knitting. I compose long letters to friends, and send them into the night, like smoke signals.
I imagine mornings without the constant stop-and-check-stop-and-check. You know what I mean.
I have invested myself in the practice of stuff love. It is a part of who I am– a part of the American way. It makes our economy sing. At least our nervous, chattering newcasters and those who feed them believe this.
Local economies disagree. They visit the gardens, trade items at tag sales, and sit in circles with friends. They make just what is needed, from what is available– without excluding the possibility of primitive beauty.
Remember that this country was founded, settled, and broken on the idea of intrusion. On the desire to need more. On gimme gimme. On being quite sure that what is just beyond that western river or hill is better than whatever paradise I hold in my hand.
Those concepts have become woven into the circuitry of our lives. And because we are America, they have become woven in the global pattern of nearly all life.
Which has become unfortunate for the horse nomads of Tibet, and any small farmer. And ultimately, ourselves.
Untangle me: break me of this instinctively American tradition. Stop me from looking forward always to the newer, the better, the brighter.
As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life.