On Saturday, as part of my professional association's accreditation requirements, (I'm a counsellor/psychotherapist, when I'm not writing)) I attended a course on teaching clients to use mindfulness skills.
Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way, taking control of your thoughts rather than allowing them to be in control of you. It's the opposite of being on auto-pilot or absent-minded. It is about trying to live fully in the moment, not the past or the future, to get fully into your own life by savoring all the sensations of the here and now. It is about being rather than doing. Sound easy?
I've been trying to practise and finding it's very hard. This morning I've been trying to focus on writing a play adaptation of a short story I wrote a couple of years ago, called 'The Unmade Bed,' and my mind is all over the place. It's in Pontardawe and what I should be preparing for Script Cafe this evening, in a dream I had last night, where an image of a very old boyfriend appeared wearing a blue velvet jacket, with a friend who's in hospital with a suspected heart attack, another who's looking after a relative with cancer, what I'm going to eat for lunch, the rain outside, sending my cousin an email, a staffing issue with a charity I'm a trustee for, a friend's dog, going or not going out for a walk, my son's life plans, and in 1965, when my play is set. I think I may just have to do a bit more practice!
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