Slow living

“A group of snails can be referred to as a rout, walk or escargatoire of snails…”

It just really didn’t matter what in the world I thought I would write about today, when I saw the above picture I just cracked up. I have always loved snails, have made numerous snail graphics over the years that said versions of “How Slow Can You Go?” but when I saw this “rout of snails” it just made me laugh out loud, a good kind of laugh, a laugh I badly needed. And don’t they look like they are congregating to deal with some serious business? I have always loved the various names for groups of animals, “a murder of crows” say, but an escargatoire of snails beats that all to heck in my mind. And it fit perfectly with something I have had in my mind these last days, and that is the whole Slow Living movement. (Another good link on the subject of slow living is the whole notion of living mindfully which I have taught for years, and try to live, and it is what is saving me on a day like today.)

This morning I had one of those dawn awakenings where, after having actually slept well all night I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. When that happens things start to to racket about in my brain, the kind of things that are scary or worrisome like, at the present, my little Pugsley, whose “bacterially infected eye ulcer” has me worried to pieces. (It is being treated aggressively with 3 kinds of drops 4-6 times a day + 2 different meds by mouth twice a day, I take him back to the specialist in the morning to see how he is responding to the meds. Please, still, if you will, hold my wee boy in your thoughts and prayers…) But I didn’t allow myself to get in that state for long. I said to myself, “I can only do what I can do, keep the drops and meds going, love him and kiss him and care for he and his sister Delilah tenderly, and move through the hours of the day with attention to each moment. I will do what I can, moment by moment, “I will do what I can…” I was thinking as I slowly drifted back to sleep.

What happens, in a life that has been ruled by anxiety for so many decades, is that your brain moves like a locomotive careening down the tracks out of control. Everything moves so fast the world spins and it is hard to hold on. The room spins, the brain spirals out of control. How to manage it? Slow down. Get a grip on the present moment and hold on for dear life. Whatever you are doing do it more slowly, and then slower still. Breathe in deeply and out as slowly as possible. Fix your attention on one thing and stare at it with rapt attention, noticing every detail. Keep breathing, slower still. Keep your attention focused on that one thing.

Right now in front of me there is a red tulip. It is part of a beautiful bouquet of tulips, lilies and more, but it has fallen and is hanging upside down. I can’t take my eyes off of it. If I wanted to take it even further I would pick up my pen and draw the tulip, coloring in the red petals, a deeper red at the tips, the petals themselves having an iridescence it is hard to capture, the base of the tulip is white, the large green leaf is shapely and hugs the stem, touching the base of the flower. What else do I see? When I move slowly and become deeply engrossed in what is right in front of me in this moment my mind cannot run away with me. When I do what I can, one thing at a time, one moment at a time, I can handle whatever it is that I need to handle. The eye drops, the pills, getting the dogs out, feeding them, walking in the garden and checking on the roses, coming back in and talking to a friend for an hour in a live Messenger call, cuddling with the pugs in our big chair and reading a new novel I have just started to read after putting more drops in Pugsley’s eye, getting the dogs out again, more drops, their dinner, mine, sitting here writing to you. One step, one thing, one moment at a time, lived so slowly I am almost living in slow motion. We can do this, you and I, an escargatoire of snails and us.

This is how I am making it. Today, when I was afraid, I reined myself in, I brought myself back to what I could do, I cannot predict the future, I cannot change the past, but I can be right here in this one moment, and you can be here with me too. What are you doing, right at this very moment? Not 5 minutes ago, not an hour from now, right now. What is in front of you? Describe it in detail. Tell me. Will you share it with me below? Will you be part of a slow living movement with me right here on this blog? We have to start somewhere. I have told you about my tulip. Now you tell me what is in front of you. Paint me a picture. I really want to know. I’m waiting. Tell me now…