So I had an hour and a half.
That was the raw material.
Plus six eight-year olds.
An hour and a half.
What to do?
What structures to put into this seamless lake of beingness.
I mean I would prefer, if I were capable, to float in beingness, in joyful bliss, but with six small people there is an ominously large chance of mayhem. Chaos theory coming vibrantly to life.
So, I decided I would make them run to the kitchen and get stuff.
Red stuff. Wooden stuff. Metal stuff. Plastic stuff. Small stuff.
For no reason. Really. Aimless. I mean it has some vocab. We practised writing. But the kids don’t need ‘reason’, they need structure. They don’t ask, ‘Why are we doing this?’ the ask, ‘What are we going to do?’ Doing. Enjoying doing. Running. Aimlessly. English class.
With Covid and living alone in Latvia, I’m starting to realise how in the continual sameness of days I feel better, and am often delighted, when I put structure over the structureless. What would I like to do? I ask myself. Walk. So, I decide when is the next best time to get on a train and go walking in the woods by the sea. I love it. Recently I have even been making a little fire in the sand dunes. No reason. Despite the hard work, gathering, concentrating on the flame, battling against the elements, I just like it. It gives me something out of the sameness.
It is as aimless as running to the kitchen for something that is red. And I get a kick out of it. It is human creativity in action. ‘What will you make with this one precious life?’ asks the poet laureate, Mary Oliver RIP.
I tend to create structure rather randomly. I see others planning, programming and executing. I don’t think it actually makes any difference. It is our own way of creating on top of the formless. What’s important is that we do it. And as we do we become to see ourselves. Learn to be ourselves.
Eventually the path seems to lead to being able to simply rest in the formless, without needs, without fear of not feeding the monsters of our egos, without needing the excitement of being young and excited in the world…but for now, it’s good to imagine my inner child laughing at the plastic red spatula, bubbling with happiness, running down the corridor.
