the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

In the absolutely wonderful book The Year of Living Biblically, A. J. Jacobs is doing fairly well with his Jewish life and its requirements (including an amusing passage in which he was sabotaged by his wife while trying to not sit where a menstruating woman has sat), but he still runs up against a wall when he struggles to "remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy." He understands this to mean that he is to not do any work. He can't make money on that day, for it is wrong. This includes, as he is a journalist, not checking his emails.

He is unable. He chronicles his struggle to make it to a later hour in the day before he checks them. He admits he may be unable to do by the end of his "Jewish period" (7 months of Judaism and 5 months of Christianity, a decision based upon the amount of text committed to each in the standard KJV, more or less).

Then one day, he accidentally locks himself in his bathroom while his wife is at work. The lock on the bathroom is wonky, and slips into place when he goes to the toilet early in the day. (Why he even closed the door when he was home alone is beyond me, so don't ask. Maybe there was a kitten attacking the toilet paper. I don't remember, but this seems at least plausible.)

Anyhow, he gets stuck in a bathroom where there is no exit. He considers his options. His wife is gone until close of day, and he has a few hours to kill. No one will hear him scream (or if they do, they won't be able to do anything to help, short of calling the authorities who will break down his front door, etc.). He tries to figure out a way to jimmy the door, if I remember correctly, then sits in mindless frustration on the bathroom floor.

I don't think he gives dimensions, but I picture one of those tiny add-on bathrooms in apartment buildings where there's only room for one person to coil up against the toilet. He's trapped. For hours. He joneses for a while. He cleans the bathroom, counts the Qtips or something. But at some point, it hits him.

It what? you ask. The joy of just being. The meaning of the Sabbath. Rather, the point of it. In Jacobs' opinion, I mean.*

* Rather, in my faulty memory of Jacobs' opinion. Whatever.

He discovers peace through sheer force and depravity.

I mean, he is depraved, and so he finds peace.

No.

He is deprived of that which he believes makes his life complete and meaningful--his work--and thus comes face to face with himself. There on the bathroom floor.* He slowly settles to a state of peace. He can't do; he must simply be. He sees how fragmented his thoughts are, how out of touch he is with himself and the world around him, and how little he appreciates what he is and has. In this moment, he sees the wisdom of a true day of rest. His is a life-changing flash of insight.

* I've come face to face with myself a couple of times on the bathroom floor, and it wasn't pretty, either.

I had a similar experience two days ago. My computer died.

Get the picture here. I'm in Izmir, Turkey. I have no television because I prefer the internet (and DVDs), and I'm off for the evening, in my apartment, all alone. My laptop dies.

This computer has served me well. It's a Mac iBook G4 (if that doesn't date it a bit). Mich bought it for me for Christmas 2005. I used it to write my thesis the following spring. I've since dragged it with me whither I went, sometimes leaving it moldering for months, untouched, then using it until grooves were worn in the keys. Two days ago, as I picked it up to nestle on my lap for quiet evening overlooking the breathtaking lights of Izmir, it died, there in my hands. Gave up the ghost. It even made a sound, like a sigh.

First, I assumed the screen had timed out and gone blank. No problem. I dismissed its noises of distress so easily. I moved my finger on the mouse pad. Nothing.

I frowned. Clicked the space bar. Enter. Nothing.

Power? Nothing.

My first reaction? Can I get to the BX to buy one before the BX closes? This shames me, but I admit it nonetheless. I'm that addicted. I was willing to RUN, if necessary, a mile or two to get a crappy laptop no one else wanted to buy in order to avoid being without internet for the rest of the evening.

I saw the silliness of this, but only after I realized that the BX had just closed.

Next: Denial. This can't be happening to me. Maybe it overheated, yeah? I left nonchalantly for a few minutes. Maybe 30? Probably less. Tried to nudge it to life. Nothing. I considered putting it in the freezer to facilitate the healing process, then realized the silliness of this plan.

Panic again.

Next: Shame at my unapologetic addiction. I like wine, yes, but I never behave like this when I run out. Never. I ran for years, but I never lost my mind when I couldn't run, not like this. So this is what it feels like to need something irrationally.

I stopped and stared out the window. The scene below me, as I've intimated before, is a vision. I saw little of it. I was obsessed. I couldn't make my mind stop its desperate attempts to escape.

Then I made it stop climbing. I made it think about what it was trying to escape from.

At least, I forced myself to just stop and wait. It didn't matter how long it took. I had a very long time. (Funny, isn't it, how time lengthens when you find yourself wanting?) I decided to wait.

If you found yourself in paradise, it wouldn't be long before your mind would say "yes, but...."

Quotation from Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now.

I'd been reading this book for months now, a tiny piece at a time. It isn't a book you read in a couple of days, or even a week. It's a book you read a paragraph or two of, chew on for a while, then come back for more.

I find myself in paradise. I have set things up this way. Other than my duties, I've finished all of my "offline" requirements; I have no homework, no professional military education to complete. I live in one of the world's most exotic climes and most fascinating cultures. People pay a fortune to come here on pleasure cruises so they can rush into town, be beset by venders on all sides, eat a greasy kebap, and buy a carpet at exorbitant markups. Then they go back to their cramped cabins where they continue their cruise to another incredible city they don't have the time or perspective to appreciate.

I live here, and I don't see how I can get tired of it.

When I paused the other night, I was amazed at how long I had to stand there before my mind slowed down. It was like a bullet in a tunnel. I was stressed for no other reason than that I didn't know how not to. It may have been 5 minutes. It may have been 30. I don't know.

Finally, I went downstairs to the bedroom with a pad and a pencil, a glass of water, and The Power of Now. I read, as I always do, slowly. When something struck me, I paraphrased it, and wrote it down.

There are no problems--only situations that need to be dealt with or accepted.

As I wrote, I focused on being entirely in what I was doing and nowhere else. I focused on how my fingers move as I write, the tension in my body. I saw how my body's tension makes my writing a bit jerky.

Give your attention to what you are doing in the Now rather than what you want to achieve by doing it [or what you want to be doing]. Honor the present moment.

I understood the Japanese art of calligraphy, and why it is a zen exercise. To move through a single brush stroke from start to finish surely and without hesitation is a thing of majesty, and you can see it in the stroke.

I felt my life slow down. I read and I wrote more. I wrote more slowly. Calligraphy. Then I slept.

d