Since I was fourteen years old at boarding school, I have been keeping a record of events. It began with a small diary—blank pages gradually filled with accounts of what I believed to be true or what others had done or told me. I never had a taste for fiction; instead, I’ve always preferred the unembellished reality of experience.
I’ll be frank: I find TikTok entertaining. It may however surprise you to know that the reason is not because of idle amusement. Aside from platforms promoting some very helpful intellectual habits (such as the simple value of focussing on the good not the bad), there are medical, dental, political and economic platforms by highly qualified speakers. I find TikTok a great way to get succinct and in-depth analysis without having to skip over obviously sensational reporting common to the regular news outlets such as CBC, BBC, CNN, MSNBC and of course Fox News.
For me the governing feature of asceticism is not chastity, self-discipline, frugality, fasting, puritanism or self-mortification. “The adjective ascetic derives from the ancient Greek term áskēsis, which means training or exercise. The original usage did not refer to self-denial, but to the physical training required for athletic events.” Rather it is the monkish denial of things that I find to be of paramount influence. Solitude from indulgence of the material world would in my opinion – at least historically – have been a recognizable deprivation. But there is an even more pernicious element to materialism; and that is its predictable cadence with decomposition. Paradoxically this ruination is aligned with the psychological benefits of asceticism.
I have never liked getting up late in the morning. It offends my Protestant Work Ethic. The only exception is when I am having a sound sleep – but that is a rare occasion. Accordingly I have convinced myself that I am one of those who requires very little sleep. As a result, if I were to linger beneath the sheets, the restraint causes enormous anxiety. Obviously at my advanced age – and frankly having nothing of importance to do on most days – there is hardly a rush to put my feet to the floor. Nonetheless, perhaps because of historic Spartan habits, anytime after seven o’clock in the morning borders on indolence. This speedily feeds my obsessiveness – which is not necessarily a bad thing; but it is a fazed disposition. It most certainly does nothing to promote a retiring sleep.
“I am not possessed with this common errour, to judge of others according to what I am my selfe. I am easie to beleeve things differing from my selfe. Though I be engaged to one forme, I do not tie the world unto it, as every man doth. And I beleeve and conceive a thousand manners of life, contrary to the common sorte.” —Florio, ed. 1613, p. 113
What a magical day it has been! I don’t recall what time it was when I awoke and threw back the duvet. But significantly it was, I am certain, after nine o’clock. Which meant I had had a good night’s sleep. I find at my advanced age in particular it requires very little on my agenda to disturb my somnolence. For example, having to go to the doctor’s office; or get the car serviced; or in fact just about any kind of early or mid-morning convention. By comparison, though we had arranged a meeting today, it was not scheduled until 1:30pm. Putting it past the noon hour is tantamount to an entirely new day so the prescription was of no consequence.
The physical world is naturally undeniable; however a critical analysis would force upon oneself the equally compelling reality of thought, sentiment and emotion. Saying that either – that is, the palpable world or the sentient world – is paramount is likely a draw especially depending upon one’s current perspective and absorption or historic precedent and preoccupation. Exhaustion of one’s appetite for either indulgence – materialism or thought – will as well predict the vista of predominance.
We took great pleasure in afternoon conviviality with a gentleman who is in the throes of a great deal of activity. I am frankly exhausted to contemplate all that is on his table. It is nothing discomfiting or unfortunate. Quite the opposite. Nonetheless there are burdens to be supported throughout the process of any transition. Coincidentally – while sipping my espresso – I remarked upon his interest in Canadian art. Though my personal attraction is to contemporary – though traditional – expressions I confess a weakness for the Canadian vernacular (such as initially exemplified by the Group of Seven). In particular the topic is reminiscent of my dealings with Heffel Gallery.
We lunched with friends on the southern boundary of the county today, east of Westport and north of Plum Hollow. It is an unhurried drive from here to there and back. Aside from a passably good meal – and some bakery delicacies afterwards – we caught up on all that had transpired over the winter including of course brief summaries of the mid-winter explorations and related social activity and encounters. Our focus was uninterrupted by either staff or the meal, as we strategically dissolved the seasonal snowballs and re-engineered ourselves for a new beginning at the golf club.
Dear Reader:
My apartment neighbour yesterday said mournfully, “The world is changing.” At the time I thought she was either over-reacting or merely being melodramatic. Now however I am not so certain. Almost anything one hears or reads lately reflects a similar sentiment. And it isn’t just the usual platitudes.