Well, it’s been a while since I’ve posted. Apart from just feeling like my creative juices had run a bit dry with lots of other stuff going on, I think subconsciously I didn’t want to wrap up this amorphous little challenge. What started out as a 100-day photography challenge morphed into a 7-month excuse to post about things, people, books, words, nature, etc. both little and large that inspired me. While in some ways it could be seen as a failure to not complete it in the ‘proper’ way, in that failure lies a discovery (as always) – I like that format, the short-form snippets (or sometimes longer ramblings) that hopefully make people smile or think or just enjoy something for a moment. It helped me tune more and more into the world and notice tiny things, enabled me to draw threads between them and make connections. And I hope you’ve enjoyed reading or glancing along, even if only once in a while.
Post number 100 is about what I have dubbed ‘soul moments’. Soul moments are those little moments when our soul connects to the soul of the world around us (call it what you’d prefer, but it’s that feeling of connected, calm presence). I started thinking particularly about this when I went to see a film on Tuesday night called Perfect Days.
The film centres around a toilet cleaner in Tokyo. We follow him throughout his day as he wakes before dawn to the sound of a street-sweeper, neatly folds his bedding, brushes his teeth, waters his plants, drives into work as the sun rises with his cassette tape playing, cleans toilets, eats lunch and goes home to eat dinner and read his book. It takes you about an hour to realise there isn’t going to be a plot, and at first you’re a little restless. Because don’t we crave and desire action, big events, ecstatic experiences? Where’s this leading? What’s next? As it turns out, that is the whole point, and that’s what’s so brilliant about it.
As someone rushes in to use the toilet, Hirayama steps outside to wait. Instead of reaching for his phone, he looks up – at the rustling trees, at the reflection of leaves and people on the underside of the shiny metal roof, at the clouds – and he smiles. At lunch he takes a photo of the same tree everyday. Each Saturday he prints them out and puts them in a box. He bathes. He washes his laundry. He sprays his plants. He cycles through town. He buys a new book from the used book store.
What’s beautiful about the film is that Hirayama applies the same presence to the toilets as he does the glimmer of the sun. He seems to have a presence, a way of making even cleaning a soul moment. It made me think of Marie Kondo and the Japanese art of applying mindfulness to the chores – upon further exploration, cleaning as a spiritual act is an aspect of the Japanese Buddhist tradition. By caring for our environment, we are caring for ourselves, clearing out the cobwebs of the space and the mind. Taking pride in making something beautiful. And in the mundane, there is often a repetitiveness that can be strangely meditative. It reminds me of the book title After the Ecstasy, the Laundry by Jack Kornfield. And that’s why there’s no plot to the film – because the majority of our lives is repetitive, not filled with extraordinary events but predictable. Whether it’s making our morning coffee or walking to the bus stop or brushing our teeth, these moments take up the majority of our time – picture each moment strung together, a second-long clip in a film, thousands of shots each more or less the same. If we can make them soul moments, we are winning.
When I got home from that film, I was folding my clothes for the next day, and I found myself feeling strangely satisfied. With every little mundane thing I did, I had a sort of relaxed but alert focus, a feeling of relishing the simple movements and actions. Predictably, that acute sense began to fade as I switched back to autopilot, but it feels important to keep reminding myself of this, to keep practicing this Zen art of mindful presence. What if we moved from soul moment to soul moment throughout the day? Okay, we aren’t the Buddha, and chores mostly just feel like chores, but what if we gave it a go? What if, even once a week, brushing our teeth, wiping the benchtop, became a beautiful moment? Whether it’s the tree shadows waving or the suds in my washing up bowl or even the pain of sadness, a soul moment is a moment of true connection– not always to the good or the wondrous, but to whatever it is that comes to greet us. As Hirayama says in the film ‘Now is now. Next time is next time.’
George, I have been waiting for your final post! Lovely last message to finish with ..... I should watch that film! I would love to have a soul moment whilst cleaning - I'm planning on polishing Nanny's copper kettle today so hopefully I will have one then! ✨️ I'll send you a photo of its coppery gorgeousness later. Well done on giving us a joyful and thoughtful snapshot of your life, times and special moments over the last few months. Love you ❤️