Dear Diary,
The human brain performs a complex and wonderful work. First of all it creates a sense of time. Secondly, from a multitude of our moments, moods and sometimes incredible transformations within that time it paints the story of one, specific and static person. That person’s story. For me, of course, it’s sometimes hard to make myself believe that I, and that other me from ten or fifteen years ago, are one and the same person – after all, the well-being and worldview over that time have undergone cardinal changes. Well, but the legs are the same, the arms are the same (although at the cellular level even here, apparently, everything has long since changed and renewed), so I guess I – am the same, so it turns out.
That person’s story performs a function that is neither big nor small. It becomes the foundation of the person’s existence. Perhaps not so much the story itself as its comparison with other people’s stories and the aspiration that, come hell or high water, mine will be if not significantly better than those around me, then at least no worse. Think about it, if in the world there were no other person, just you alone: would you struggle so much accumulating wealth, cultivating appearance, deepening knowledge? Not a chance! You’d be calmly lying under a tree eating an apple while scratching a dirty nape or some other interesting body part. It is precisely the desire to live an exceptional, unspeakable, “People” magazine-worthy story that makes a monkey into a human. The desire to cause envy rather than indifference or even, God forbid, disgust in those around you with your story.
Bearded gurus from books and computer screens, to those exhausted in these crazy races seeking moments of relief, claim that now the most important thing is to destroy some ego and everything will fall into place – the little calm will return, the little madness will ease. Here one can begin a decade-long journey of trying to prove to yourself that you don’t exist, learning to observe the voice in the head from the left, right, above and every other possible angle, not judging, not analyzing, not commenting. However, a far simpler path to a moment of freedom and bliss is the ability to simply put that s*itty and boring illusory story of yours on pause. Those crazy races striving to find the very best. Striving to acquire the very best. Striving to build the very best. Striving to become the very best. Put on pause and with your entire being feel that it’s precisely your own story that makes you tense, depressed, squeezed into invisible but rather well-felt frames and, quite often, rather unhappy.
The pausing happens very simply. There’s a little switch in the head that flicks your attention from chewing on your story to sensorimotor experiences. The story chewing is, always. And the sensorimotor experiences are, always. It’s just that the switch in most people is stuck in one position and performs its function only in exceptional cases – for instance when you’re walking dreamily across a crosswalk and a car you didn’t notice starts signaling at you. Then just whoops, and as if awakened from deep sleep, you make rapid movements to save your real behind, without story-chewing. Or when you see an unspeakably beautiful view before you – everyone perfectly knows that state of watching a fiery sunset, immeasurable distances from a high hill or a leaning tower in a certain state you simply must visit this year because everyone else has already been and without this trip your life story will become less expressive than those of others.
The forest is also one of those places where breathtaking views, sounds and sensations often switch that little switch. The most important thing – is to go to the forest correctly. The forest must not simply be a backdrop for chewing on your story and the plans associated with it. The forest must become the primary focus. So primary that not even the slightest room remains for time. That not even “a moment ago” or “in a moment” remains. Then there’s no room for a story. No room for races. No room for tension. And all the freed-up space is filled by an unspeakable sense of freedom. As if freedom to do what you want. As if freedom to take what you want. But at that moment those desires shrink to some indescribable minimum. To a desire to simply drink with eyes and ears everything surrounding you at that moment. Greedily drink the moment. Greedily drink life.
All a person usually needs – is simply seven seconds of freedom from their own story. And that’s it.
