I’ve been thinking about the concept of the sabbath. The day of rest. I mean a true day of rest, in which we live outside our hectic notions of time. No errand running, no catch-up work, no nothing. Just relaxation, friends, family, eating (of course!), and your church of choice, whether that’s a cathedral or a forest.
If I understand the traditional intent, we’d devote our sabbath days to our spiritual selves. But how to take ourselves out of the daily grind for one day? Each week, we’d have to plan for our personal sabbaths as if going on a one-day vacation from our lives. We’d have to say “no.” We’d try to avoid the easy time-wasters and brain-pacifiers: television, Internet, email, and maybe even novels. (Oh–the last one would be my downfall in a restless moment!)
I’d probably nap during the afternoon and call this a form of contemplation. For reflection time, I could journal. I’d walk as a form of meditation.
What about fiction writing? For the longest time, I thought of fiction as my religion. It was the way I connected to my core self and to the bigger universal dealio, whatever that may be, because I sure as heck don’t know. Maybe without knowing it, I’ve been looking for this dealio through my fiction.
All I know is that when I started taking my fiction seriously, I stopped seeking a spiritual path in the more traditional sense.
I seem to be in seeker mode again though. I wonder what this means for my fiction…