Give me three minutes. I’ll give you deliciousness.

Via on Nov 17, 2011

Deliciousness. Vivid colours. Sharp smells. Fresh insight.

This is how we experience the world when we pause for long enough to engage with it.

Sliminess, too. Unease. The familiar sad pang of acknowledging impermanence. All this is part of life.

If we’re not careful, we skip past so much. We get caught in the endless stream of emails and to-do lists. We put our heads down. We scurry to ‘keep up’ with everyone else.

I am a Pureland Buddhist, and starting each day with Buddhist practise helps me to remember the really important things – faith, love. Things I can take refuge in, and use as both my anchor and my compass.

My other main arsenal in the continuing battle against mind-fog is the mindful writing practice, small stones.

A small stone is a moment of engaged attention, written down. Poetry, prose, it doesn’t matter. The most important part is scrutinising whatever presents itself, as objectively as you can. Loving whatever is before you.

Each small stone I write teaches me something new:

“lime-green periscopes of fern rise through the dead.”

This one draws my attention to impermanence and to the beauty and reliability of new life.

“white braille-flowers on bone-china mug. the generous earlobes of the grey Buddha. white hairs in the kitten’s black tail. the reflection of the table leg in the golden grate. a tight pain in my neck. the clicking of Kaspa’s mouse.”

This one reminds me to pay attention to all those small ‘insignificant’ details that pass us by.

“small red berry, so bright I cannot help myself, I bend & pick it up.”

This one reminds me to praise.

Deliciousness. The croissant I ate this morning with tart gooseberry jam. Vivid colours. The egg-shell blue of the wide open sky. Sharp smells. Late roses, cutting through the cold air with their honeyed scent. Fresh insight. The world brings me wisdom, wherever I look.

Pause. Look around you. Let your senses reach their tentative fingers outwards.

Allow the world to shock you with its deliciousness.

*

If you’re up for the challenge, people around the world will be writing a small stone every day during January. Find out more here.

If you’re as impatient as me, get started straight away with Kaspa’s free seven day experience.

Or post your small stone right here in the comments section. I want to read them. Three minutes. Deliciousness. Trust me.

Buddha photo by katclay (Creative Commons) with thanks.

About Writing Our Way Home

Kaspa & Fiona’s eyes met across a crowded room in 2010. They decided to: a) get married & spend their rest of our lives together, & b) pool their passions & talents to give birth to Writing Our Way Home. Their mission of helping people to connect with the world through writing. They offer a smorgasbord of writing e-courses, & run a thriving community. Read more about their mindful writing practice, small stones, and meet Lorrie in Fiona’s free ebook. / Fiona is a published novelist, therapist, creativity coach, & is very fond of earl grey and home-made cake. Kaspa is a Buddhist priest, writer, therapist, drama enthusiast, & is still learning to play the ukulele.

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8 Responses to “Give me three minutes. I’ll give you deliciousness.”

  1. kim hammer says:

    the unsavory sound of my skinny cat throwing up, again, again. even less savory, cleaning up the ooze, luckily deposited on a washable surface.

  2. Anthony O'Connell says:

    Exhausted on my couch I can smell the food my lovely partner is preparing for me.

  3. Anthony O'Connell says:

    Difficult week condensed into a few tense inches of pain across the back of the neck.

  4. Fiona Robyn says:

    Excellent, Anthony. Keep writing them!

  5. Anthony O'Connell says:

    The sound of the heating kicks in to remind me I am lucky to be warm on this cold night.

  6. Anthony O'Connell says:

    A tiny fly on the outside of my window walks in circles to signal that he wants to come in.

  7. Fiona Robyn says:

    Hope you might join us in the river, Anthony. You might want to start a blog to collect those small stones…

  8. Anthony O'Connell says:

    I remind myself to drop tension in the shoulders and a minute later have to remind myself again. That makes me smile.

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