Small Meditations

Or, Give That Brain A Rest

Let’s just take a moment to theorise about how many forms of media one can consume at one time.

Aurally, we gotta layer that shit like a cake: we can have an audiobook (preferably something simple and not worth paying attention to like Brandon Sanderson) on top of music that is tasteful enough not to overpower, but not to the point of being insipid. We might try something classical, like Vivaldi’s Spring or perhaps something from Skyrim. And then, on top of that, we can have a video playing of someone directing some self-soothing breathing exercises, for us to heed or spurn at our leisure. While we listen to our audiobook we can read a physical book (real pros will space their comprehension just so, so that the words of the book in their hands will slot between the words being crooned into their ears, so that there is a constant stream of lexicon assailing their senses). The television is on and is playing brainrot to fill the space, and the second television is hooked up to your relative’s PS5 so you can passively watch them miss every shot on FIFA, and the third television is playing a podcast where uninteresting men waffle on over a table. Instagram is plastered across your phone and, screw it, maybe there’s a plane outside flying a banner.

(If you can find space amidst all this to squeeze in this Substack, I would be very grateful).

We are left with a pleasantly scoured brain. One that has been prodded down like an animal in a zoo until it is a listless lump capable only of observation; it sees the sun dance on the water but fails to see how it penetrates beneath. What bliss.

I get it. I think most people do. Certainly, most people of my age bracket. This world has, not to put too fine a point on it, gone to the dogs (and those dogs have gold teeth). The planet is dying, empathy is a finite resource, wars are bleeding us, genocides are not as historic as they sound, and capitalism dons a bigger pair of boots each year. Why would we choose to be present in this hellish little life when we could coast by on a sea of dopamine? Blinker ourselves with Tiktoks and take digital bricks to the face (which feels a far cry better than staring agog at this modern world with a face markedly unbricked).

But, let’s be honest, social media has kind of fallen off, right? Years ago, everything had weight, everything felt at least a little more connected than it does now. Sure, this is likely a cocktail of childhood nostalgia, childhood self-consciousness and my mum convincing me that someone would come and blow up our house if I so much as posted a recognisable picture of our curtains, as if our abode of nobodies was worth the precious C4, but scrolling social media felt meaningful. We had group chats to sling memes into, we had feeds that were accurately catered to us, we had a real feeling of presence in our community and around the world.

Now, frankly, it’s all a bit shit:

-            Twitter has become a cesspool of hate, bots and ads, doubly so ever since the most sauceless man alive gained control of it. Expand any thread and you are guaranteed to find the most stupid opinion thinkable on any situation, as if they do it for sport. The prime evidence for the Dead Internet Theory.

-            Facebook is haunted by old people and familiar people. Nothing of interest is to be found here. I logged on recently just to see and the very first post on my feed was someone from high school hawking fitness tea. The second post was an image of L from Death Note sitting on a Hello Kitty bed, which in all fairness is at least half-baked.

-            Instagram is ruled by its predatory algorithm and would happily explode all of its users if it meant a payout. Unfortunately, it’s still the best we’ve got.

-            Tiktok is like eating a bag of chips (americanised) except you don’t taste any of the chips and it takes hours every day. Some of them, unfortunately, are really funny

-            Threads

-            Reddit is as supercilious, annoying and strangely prudish as ever. It honestly hasn’t changed very much.

-            Youtube has become infested with ads, and videos cater more to the reactionary than anything else. God if I don’t love an hour-long video essay on obscure media though

So what are we to do amidst this capitalist digital phantasmagoria? I think separating from it entirely isn’t a great solution (although I see many people on Bookstagram taking short breaks from the space, and also apologising for it. Why apologise?). I merely believe that we should be more mindful of how we engage with it. Sort the positive spaces from the bad ones, but also be open to hearing opposing voices. Even if it is purely a springboard for refutation. Some of those screens on your PC are mirrors and some are windows. Both are equally important to observe. Use social media to connect with friends, obviously, and to make new ones. Use social media to stay up to date with the happenings of the world in a way that the carefully tailored reporting of the news doesn’t allow. But if you find yourself burning out, or becoming depressive and numb, or mindlessly doomscrolling the weirdly abrasive Twitter feed just to do it, then perhaps stepping away is advised.

We have become so inured to the crowding in our heads.

At work, there are moments of stillness that break the moments of go-go-go. Some benches on our rota experience this more than others (molecular virology and manual serology are fairly full-on, for example). The bench I am on right now is the “quality bench”, which is a professional name for cleaning up everyone’s mess. Part of my duties is making up reagents, pipetting them out in tiny volumes. It’s manual, it’s stultifying to a certain extent, and it doesn’t require a whole lot of brain power. I sit in the Clean Room, robed up and begloved, and I rack the little snapcaps, and I combine the primers and the probes into a mixture and aliquot them out. And my mind does not wander so much as it becomes open (I have to ensure that I am cognizant enough of the volumes and the snapcaps, after all). I take my thoughts as they come and I do not leash them. I examine them cooly—what am I doing this evening, how do I fix this plot hole in that one story I’m writing, wow my back sure does hurt—and I let them go with a parting wave. Or else I work with a mind blissfully quiet. I become a vessel unfilled for twenty minutes at a time.

Life is full of these small meditations, if we but let them happen.

There is a certain satisfaction in shaving. In wetting your face with warm water and massaging it with fresh-scented shaving cream, in feeling the slight drag of the razor on your stubble, in witnessing a definite progression from rough to smooth (and slightly raw).

There is a certain calm in cooking, of course (caramelising onions requires meditation in and of itself my god).

Gardening is another one. Inspecting one’s plants and trimming what needs to be trimmed, watering what needs to be watered, bolstered only by the birds and the golden sun.

To many, writing is a wrestling match between the self and the self, and this can sometimes be true—we all have bad days. To me, it is another form of meditation. Picking the right words, turning them over in your hands, feeling for veins of lyricism and flow. Even just one sentence written in a whole session can provide deep-rooted satisfaction if, through your careful tending, it is a really, really good sentence.

Silence is not something to be feared.