Nothing good or bad

Every now and again George remembers his duties as my personal muse and assigns me a writing exercise with themes that range from truly mediocre, like to write about who lives in my street, to spectacularly bizarre: the Queen's handbag being one I distinctly remember.

Of course, he knows that I will find out, as I write along, that no theme is ever mediocre, but the writing makes it so. As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, mediocrity is often the shades we wear looking at the world around us.

"Write about what you don't think about." I ignored the assignment for a bit. I usually do when I know it will take me places I might not find comfortable. In any case, writing about what I'm not thinking about will have me thinking about it, won't it?

But yes, I know what he means. So let's see where this leads me.

It really depends on the season, but in these glorious, golden, autumn days, and again in late spring, I don't think about climatic temperature. For the rest of the year, I do.This is because I am acutely aware of extremes of heat or cold and most definitely suffer from the condition known as S.A.D (Seasonal affective disorder). Winters especially, I find extremely taxing on my emotional well being. But then, I also have an overall sensitivity to extremes in sound, light, smells and even textures. I guess you can call me hyperSENSitive in the true sense of the word. I once tried to prepare a stew in my slow cooker overnight, but had to switch it off as the wholesome smell of oxtail simmering in a red wine sauce kept waking me up!

Therefore I revel in the in-between seasons when my skin knows no discomfort and I can simply be. Maybe there's a similar "season" of non-awareness where all the other sensitivities are concerned, as well? But is that to be recommended on this journey of living consciously? Is thinking about something not the same as being conscious of it?

Now that's something to consider. Will it make a difference to my experience of say, winter, if I didn't think about the cold, even though I am experiencing it, being aware of it? Thinking about it, for me entails that I slavishly follow the weather channels, tell myself how extremely cold I am or will be when I have to get up to let the cat out and feeling constantly extremely uncomfortable in the layers and layers of clothes I put on to stay warm, even while already anticipating the extreme discomfort of having to undress at some stage for various reasons of hygiene and custom. I'm afraid I'm not exaggerating.

How might being simply aware of it be any different? I don't have a ready answer, but I do know that if I don't tense up about the discomfort, whether it be heat, cold, or the balance of my bank account, I do have a sense of melting into it. Of allowing it to be what it is and of not experiencing it as an enemy or something dangerous out to get me.

I am aware of winter's slow rhythm, of her clear blue skies and the glories of coming in from the cold and warming up in front of a fireplace. I look at winter through my camera's lens and I love the starkness of scenes, the uncluttered and stripped bareness of trees, the monochromes of winter landscapes. The shorter days make me turn inward, to my books, to comforting crafts like knitting and to the preparing of meals that nourish and sustain.

When I am aware of winter I do not hate it as when I think of it. My awareness is like the love for a demanding teacher, whom I know cares deeply for my well being and my education of her subject. I would so like to excel at Winter, like George does!

So maybe, for now, I'm writing about what I shouldn't be thinking about so much. And I cannot help but quote Shakespeare on this:

for there is nothing either good or
bad, but thinking makes it so.


Matilda