In the last article, I mentioned “the cat”.
Which got me thinking.
The Cat as Zen Master
A cat sits on a windowsill. It watches a leaf. That is all.
You watch the cat and think about your inbox. The cat does not think about its inbox. The cat does not have an inbox. The cat has a leaf.
This is the first lesson.
On Sitting
A cat can sit for four hours. It does not check its phone. It does not wonder if it should be sitting somewhere better. The sitting is the thing. When the sitting is done, the cat will do the next thing. Until then, the sitting continues.
Humans cannot sit for four minutes without reaching for something. We call this productivity. The cat would call it nothing, because the cat does not call things anything.
On Eating
The cat eats when hungry. The cat stops when full. The cat does not eat standing at the counter scrolling through bad news. The cat does not eat its feelings. The cat has feelings and the cat has food and the cat keeps these separate, like a sensible creature.
Reflect on this the next time you finish a packet of biscuits without remembering the middle ones.
On the Box
You buy the cat a bed. It costs forty pounds. The cat sits in the box the bed came in.
The cat is not being ironic. The cat has assessed the box and the bed and chosen the box. The bed wants to be a bed. The box wants nothing. The cat understands this distinction better than you do.
On Sudden Sprinting
At 11pm the cat will run sideways down the hall for no reason. This is also mindfulness. The cat is fully committed to the running. The cat is not running because of a deadline or a guilt or a January resolution. The cat is running because running is happening.
Then it stops. Completely. As if running was a country it has now left.
On Being Watched
The cat does not perform. When you enter the room, the cat does not adjust its face. The cat is the same cat alone as in company. You should try this sometime. You will find it difficult.
On Naps
The cat does not feel guilty about the nap. The cat does not say “I’ll just rest my eyes for ten minutes.” The cat naps. The nap ends when the nap ends. There is no negotiation, no apology, no Sunday-evening dread.
The Lesson
You cannot become a cat. You have rent and emails and a vague sense that you should be reading more. But you can borrow from the cat. You can sit and only sit. You can eat and only eat. You can choose the box.
Try one thing today with the whole of your attention. A cup of tea. A walk to the bins. A conversation where you are not also thinking about the next conversation.
The cat is already doing it. The cat has been doing it the whole time you read this.
Go on. Pick your leaf.
Alan /|\