Doing Nothing

I have done one thing after the other. Things I liked. Efficient I planned them after each other. Then buying something at 'Blokker', a department store in the city...
The people are buzzing around me. Friday late afternoon, the eve of Easter.

It feels like I'm stuffed with clothes, text, newspapers... As if there is no space inside me any more. A kind of car sickness.

I consider that I should do something else.
Very quickly the possibilities are flashing through me. Going to the movie? Going out for dinner? Buying something nice for myself? Making an appointment with someone?

Nothing is resonating...

Then suddenly I think of Osho's suggestion: 'don't do anything for half an hour a day, unless you are busy, then don't do anything for one hour'.

Yes, this is it...

Not that I am very enthousiastic immediately. The doing-machine still rattles on inside me. And yet: this doing-nothing must be some kind of detox...


I take the two escalators to the La Place terrace, outside but covered, next to warehouse 'the Bijenkorf'. The only thing I plan to 'do' there is drinking a cup of coffee with milk.
Determined I establish myself at a table, firmly wrapped up against the cold and with my cup of coffee

It is a quarter to six. So until a quarter to seven I will sit there doing-nothing. Whatever happens...

That gives a nice framed feeling.
One other woman is sitting there. I ask myself what she is experiencing at her table. Inside me immediately many programs start appearing: I can follow my breath, observe my thoughts, watch people who are shopping downstairs (for this I have to move closer to the fence). But then I realize that this is also a 'doing'. How addicted I am to doing. And how scary it is to do nothing at all.

The sounds are cosy. I hear hundreds of voices. Voices that are in contact with each other. The voices of the children sound like a cascading waterfall. Their voices have many colours. The flags of Mac Donalds are fluttering in the wind. The sky is cloudy. Grey with dark blue in between. Many grey buildings. Everything just IS. Birds that fly or descend on a high pole or facade. At the border of the roof of the Bijenkorf I discover two fake pigeons and one real one. Funny... My body becomes so heavy. I am almost falling asleep. I have a judgement about this. Sleeping here? I should be conscious. Then I also drop this. Apparently I'm tired.

Delicious loom I am sitting there. Sometimes with my eyes closed, then again looking around me. The hunted feeling has almost disappeared. But if I am not aware, sometimes out of the blue an impuls is popping up: 'just walk to the fence to see the people...' ... no, I stay seated - 'just stand up and see which shops are already closed'... no, I stay loyal to my sitting on my chair - 'now it is enough, I go'... no, fifteen minutes more to go. Then again for some time it is timeless...

It is nice to have defined that hour so clearly. It is also my challenge. I want to feel it: my addiction to 'doing'. I want to feel what is so scary about doing-nothing. Otherwise I am doomed for my whole life to be a slave of my own doing.

It is a quarter to seven. I stand up. La Place is almost going to close. I have to go out through a side entrance, because the main entrance has already been closed. Very quiet I descend the two escalators. I look around carefully and see things I never saw before. Because suddenly I have very much time. Because of this one hour everything has become a kind of timeless...

All hurry is out of my system. I feel more tired than before this hour, but I feel that this is my real body sensation, which I had overlooked by my hurrying.

My whole evening has another quality... new !