I once read that having a Zen place — a small area of our own, carved into a corner of our worlds — is important. A place to escape to, perhaps, let the mind and spirit be.
While I don’t have a real Zen area of my own, I sit out in the backyard sometimes, alone, and do absolutely nothing. It’s a place near the rosemary plant, and my sitting area consists of a pile of bricks.
I’ve tried to read while there, but the place hasn’t allowed distractions from a state of complete disconnect. When I brought a book, my mind wandered off the page, my gaze crawled to the top of the trees, the roses, a cat on the neighbor’s fence; my hearing picked up someone’s voice in the distance.
Not being able to read or write was a source of annoyance, but I’ve come to realize that fragmented thoughts made their way through while in that latent state, even if they took shape and reappeared out of the ether much later.
The yard, sitting in this particular place, might be where important thoughts are born, but not where they make their first sound, not where they learn to crawl or walk. That happens later, when the process becomes complete on its own, free of influence.
Do you have a Zen place — a tiny corner uniquely your own?