The Art of Boredom

I dip my toes into the pool of boredom and quiver with fear. My mind runs—sprints—gallops away at the first sign of silence, the first sign of inaction. I must find something to do. I bite my nails in a desperate act to feel accomplished. I must find something to do. Scanning the world for something to read: a billboard, an irrelevant pamphlet, anything to keep my mind from settling. I must find something to do. Someone please help, I can feel it happening; my stirring mind is missing its spoon and the chaotic contents are settling. Don’t let them touch the bottom of the pot; don’t let them awaken to ask where they are. Because surely they will realize they are bored. Oh no, It’s too late. I’ve transformed.

Rippling water sparkles with movement. Stalks of wild flowers waver in the spring breeze. The art of boredom is provoked and the stagnant world awakens with life when the mind settles into inaction. When there is nothing of interest surrounding the self, once the fear of boredom has gone, the mind works hard to find amusement in the mundane. The illusive mundane. Subtleties of life begin to emerge and a new world offers itself to the still.

An inactive mind begins to stroll the path of purpose, alerting the Self to the overlooked actions of others, like a hawk searching the ground for prey. The book wavers in her delicate grasp. His voice whispers with his thoughts. His fingers connect with an itch on his face. Her heels stomp with authority as she progresses towards her destination. The library rustles with human action, breathing life into the settled mind.