Sabbath Report #6

In which I share an unsavory confession...

Oh, friends. The novelty of sabbath-ing has worn through, I fear, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps it has to do with February and its un-truncated cold and snow. Perhaps it has to do with Silas coming down sick twice in two weeks, with Scott down now, too, and Alyosha and I waiting in the wings. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I’ve still not tackled all the tasks I’d hoped to cross off in these quieter winter months.

But whether it is one or all of these factors, the bright t-shirt of my brand new year seems to have gotten bleached out in the wash. The prospect of each day feels daunting again—even bleak—and I find myself simply longing to sleep (and sleep, and sleep).

When feelings like these land, my first instinct is to avoid them as thoroughly as possible, basically by distracting myself. However, as an ongoing spiritual practice, I’ve steadily been removing distractions from my life, a list which now includes drugs and alcohol, social media and news scrolling, and also (at least currently) sugary sweets and eating after dinner. In fact, only one desirable distraction remains, and that distraction is…(drum roll, please)…watching “The Office” on Peacock.

I know, I know, I’m no television connoisseur. There are probably other good shows out there. But when my desperation for distraction arrives, it drives away any patience for exploration, and besides, “The Office” always makes me laugh. Thus has the beloved sitcom become my sole drug of choice, my Soma, my pacifier. And over the course of my recent decline, I did something that I, as the advocate for digital limits, feel deserves a confession: I downloaded the Peacock app onto my…[grimace]…phone.

First of all, yes, I have continued taking my digital sabbaths. But I’ve also taken to plugging up open stretches of time by popping in my digital pacifier. Bills, emails, dinner prep, laundry—for these mindless tasks, I’ve been using my trusty phone to build a fence between my actions and my deeper self. I’ve been divorcing myself from the need to feel, or to think, or to slow down at all for this small business of being human.

“Wait,” said Scott, when I shared with him my shame. “What’s wrong with that? You work hard. You have a lot riding on you. Whatever you need to keep yourself moving forward is nobody’s business but your own.”

I will pause here to acknowledge that this is a Grade-A answer for a partner to have given, and that Scott is always stepping in to affirm my more-than-enough-ness just as I am. So yes, three cheers for Scott! I will also, however, draw your attention to the phrase that most caught mine: “Nobody’s business but your own.”

The question of what anyone requires to continue moving forward while dragging with them all the weights of life is a question that can only be answered by the person inhabiting that particular body. My intention here is not to judge anyone for their habits but rather to try and ask the most illuminating questions, one of which is, Are you certain that this is what you want?

Am I? (Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash)

This past week, as I carried this question around, I stumbled again, as if in answer, upon the poetry of Wendell Berry, the farmer, writer, and prophet who for years now has served on the faculty of my soul as its most clarifying voice. He arrived to me through the radio, reading his poem, “How to Be a Poet.” An excerpt…

Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly.
Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places; 
there are only sacred places and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.

And, just like that, I recalled the call I can so easily ignore, since it interferes with all of my Capitalist, Type-A tendencies: To prioritize productivity above connection; to treat myself as a machine whose output is paramount; to turn myself, through slog and hustle, into someone whom, to someone else, glitters with the trappings of attainment and success, no matter the cost of this appearance or its truth. It called me back to my garden, now sleeping beneath the snow, and to the closed barn and the silent pasture. It called me back to the folding of worn fabric with my hands, to the scents of dish soap and sauteeing onions. It called me back to life at its most basic—its most boring, even—and to this land where I live and move and have my being, not in the role of champion or superstar, but in the role of witness and care-taker and bumbling but well-intentioned companion.

the prophet himself

In short, it called me back to connection, and it made me realize that this connection is what I sacrifice the most when I sell my attention to the lowest bidder. I could skip over the grounding whole of this human experience, or I could land. And I have been called to land.

Since this epiphany, I’ve deleted the Peacock app from my phone and returned my shiftless mind to my three-dimensioned life—to the dog’s warm weight against my thigh, to the sky exactly as it shines above our bit of earth, to the powder pink cast of the snow in the early morning sun. There is more right here, right now, in this sacred place, than I can ever come to understand, or even to notice. But I do, with my limited blessing of time, want to try.

You in? (Photo by Sergiu Vălenaș on Unsplash)

If you care to catch up on my digital sabbath journey, feel free to scroll through reports 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. Also be sure to…

so you don’t miss the final Sabbath Report, which will send on February 26th. And if you know anyone else who’s interested in living a more three-dimensioned life, I’d appreciate it if you could please share by clicking the button below! (Yes, it’s free.)

Until next time, love to each of you, and wishes to stay warm and aware,

Michelle