Since an exuberant start to blogging this spring, I’ve been on a so-called break. My excuse? With natural disasters of biblical proportions and political rhetoric that portend nuclear apocalypse, blogging about one’s musings has seemed a bit trifle, indulgent…  so first world.

Rage! Mobilize! My Facebook feed seems to be saying. My instinct, for the time being, has been to retreat – to tend to my own proverbial garden. To go back to center.

When I close my eyes and think of my favorite garden, it is the rock garden in Ryōan-ji of Kyoto – where, notwithstanding the hoards of tourists, Zen and Spartanism meet in meditative ecstasy.

I love the Zen aesthetic, the empty spaces speaking volumes.

Minimalism seems to be in vogue again. I do subscribe to minimalism after a fashion (notable exclusions include food, wine, books, shoes) because my idea of pornography consists of catalogues of sleek Italian furniture.

And I admire writers who possess an economy of words. One of the most resonant sentences must be that from Candide (1759):

“Excellently observed,” answered Candide; “but we must cultivate our garden.”

That famous last sentence in the novella by the French Enlightenment philosopher and social critic, Voltaire (1694-1778), has been a subject of many an interpretation, on which I have no authority. The way I interpret it to suit my own purposes is that, in a world of human lunacy and gratuitous malice, there is virtue in a fruitful and quiet life of minding one’s own business and sharing one’s surplus with others.

In my coaching practice, I often talk about the importance of finding our center – and being able to return to it in the face of turmoil, aggression or confusion. Being able to go to center is essential, because it is the place of the greatest field of vision, of the greatest freedom of choice, and of our greatest strength.

Squash players know that occupying the T-position (near the court’s center) is strategy 101.

In the realm of emotion, the center is found in acceptance – not to be equated with agreement or forgiveness. In the domain of language, the center is in silence – you have the right (and choice) to remain silent. In the territory of the body, the center is found in our energy center, a few inches below our belly button, or dantian in Chinese and hara in Japanese. 

As for ways of accessing our center, there is an abundance, starting with meditation, yoga, gardening and the like.

In face of the recent alphabet soup of natural calamities (from Harvey, to Irma, to Jose, to Katia, to Lee, to Maria) and the escalating verbal duel between boys with bombs (DJT and KJU), I needed to heed my own advice.

So I accessed my center, tended my garden, by organizing our kitchen cove. After an initial bout of frenzy, I entered a state of flow while organizing all the domestic miscellanea. Once completed, I felt an outsize sense of satisfaction and peace. The global balance of power might be in the hands of unhinged men, and the natural order of things might be unraveling; but for now, a piece of my little garden was tended to. And I am again ready to go out there – to share my surplus energy.

Dear reader, I would love to hear about your centering practices!