Rest and motion or rest in motion



Life can be pretty hectic. Busy schedules, traffic jams, crowded car parks when you’re going shopping, sorting post, all the things you love to do or that need to be done, choices you have to make, everything that’s going on around us. That’s a lot of movement. And, of course, the issues of the day to top it all off. Just think how often people say, especially in reference to their job, that they’re running round like headless chickens.

Our diaries seem to indicate that life can be shaped, planned, or, indeed, controlled. Every person who has ever had a severe illness, or has had someone close to them become really ill, knows better than that. But at the same time, I sometimes feel that my diary is controlling me rather than the other way around. Then I put up a resistance. I want rest. I want to do nothing whatsoever. To just sit on a bench, basking in the sunlight, and stare into the distance. I like peace and quiet. A moment without inducements. Just me, no obligations. Being at rest puts me into contact with what is underneath the surface of daily life.

It feels as if rest and movement are fighting each other at this point, as if they are opposites. There’s no rest when I’m in motion. When I’m resting, everything is on hold; there’s no movement. This ‘digital’ way of dealing with rest and motion is also a form of being in control, fear of believing in the larger flow of life.

She dove into the motion. To me that expresses surrendering to the stream, to life’s movement. Instead of putting up a fight, I dive into it. I have no idea where it’ll take me, but I’m not afraid to have faith in it. People say it’s quiet in the eye of the hurricane. That is what I am looking for: rest in motion. What are you looking for?

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