Yesterday was a rare sunny Sunday that I did not go out. I am a very active kind of person: the time spent outdoors doubles that indoor. Yesterday, however, as the appointment got cancelled, I decided to stay in all day and enjoy wasting a whole fabulous-weather day.
Actually, it was not a waste at all. Hardly did I have a day so leisure that I completely enjoyed myself lazing around in the futon, feeling the warmth of sunbeams filtered through the windows resting all over me. I was literally doing nothing, and by nothing I meant “nothing productive”.
Normally, I would call a friend, or get called on by one, and go out. Else, I would read books or study at a local coffee shop. Even if I stay in, I paint or write something. Yesterday was an exception though. I lied there tasting the flow of time slipping through the air, observing the subtle change in the color of the sunlight when dusk gradually fell.
Usually, I try my best to make the most productive out of the limited time. I always get busing planning, contacting people, preparing for upcoming events, etc. The activities make me feel alive and meaningful. Many times I shake my head in disappointment at guys staying indoor and doing nothing. Nonetheless, I experienced it yesterday and realized even doing nothing was doing something. My body might not move an inch but my mind traveled far beyond the realm of mundanity. The beauty of time does not only burst out during dynamic activities but also tranquilly lies in its own static stream waiting for me to rest and discover. All of a sudden, I seem to understand why hermits choose their lifestyle and why meditators can sit still for hours.
Nature always holds the piety (even the one that is packed inside a concrete building). Human only have to choose whether to pay our respect.