Sourdough and manifestos

Musings, questions and revolutions from my treehouse among the maples.

Today, I’m grasping at the light, like a moth hurling against a dusty bulb. Must create. Do something useful. But what? I've been thinking about how when something's super easy, it's not necessarily the best thing for us. Take social media or various apps that help us get stuff done but also distract in the process.

Lately, I've been building side activities into my day to connect me back to myself and the world around me: I go out every day, no matter if the sky is ashen, chalky, or robin’s egg blue. I talk to my plants because our green friends need love too. I play with the cat (dopamine production and cortisol reduction; feline stimulation), take tea breaks with quality teas, and avoid looking at my phone during creative flow states—because it's a flow state! Easier said than done.

Perhaps if I create a manifesto like the Surrealists, Futurists, or Dadaists then life will be straightforward. Emphasis on the unconscious, rejection of the past, absurdity above all. I tend to favour the Situationists' manifesto that critiques capitalism and merges art with everyday life. They were big in France from the 50s to the 70s and their ideas are still relevant. Guy Debord’s Society of the Spectacle (1967) argued that modern life is dominated by images and passive consumption. I rest my case.

I’m making sourdough today and writing. Of course, I can buy bread from the grocery store but my bread's delicious and it gives me a feeling of having done something worthwhile. It's also a mindfulness practice as I need to be present to gently knead, turn and fold the bread every 30 minutes, six times. This feels a tad witchy, but it works.

Morning sun pours into the windows, dancing on the dining room table. Buttercup yellow hugs the browning bananas I forgot to use up. It warms the dough that nests in an oiled bowl under a dishcloth with plucky foxes on it. The over-the-top sun means it’s a freeze-your-cheeks kind of cold, yet light is light so I go outside. The cold is as advertised. The sun is warmer though. It will be my saving grace. That and the bread.

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Mindful writing exercise

Gather your notebook (or a piece of paper) and a pen. Find a comfortable place on a sofa, a chair at your desk, or on a cushion on the floor. Make sure that the location is relatively quiet and free from interruption. See that your back is supported, or at ease and that you are sitting upright. You may cross your legs if you wish or sit with your feet planted firmly on the floor.

Take a few moments to sense the inflow and outflow of breath. Allow your awareness to follow the breath as it expands your lungs and abdomen and exits through your nose. With each breath begin to let go a bit more, releasing any tension or pain in your neck and shoulders, your arms, back, hips, and legs. Sense the inflow of the breath as it fills your lungs, and then sense the outflow as you slowly let go and begin to relax.

Write down 10 observations about your surroundings that are connected to your senses. For example, “the leafless tree out my window,” “the cloudless sky,” “the hardwood floor beneath me,” “the colourful books on my shelves,” “the soft cushion at my back,” “the citrusy, warming tea I’m drinking,” “the fragrant candle beside me.”

As shown here, these can be in point form; the idea is just to get them down.

This exercise can help you to become more aware of your surroundings, more present, and more in tune with your body.

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Yours in Ink & Earth,

Lissa

I am grateful to live + work on the unsurrendered traditional lands of the Algonquin people.