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them, are those moments in a piece of music when there is a passage of time but no sound. There is nothing. So Schoenberg, the composer, says that “nothing” always sounds well.

      Hmm. Sounds like a trick, or a riddle. What's wrong with this statement? Buddhists might call Schoenberg's words a koan, a paradoxical riddle with no answer, used for discussion and teaching.

      What can we make of it?

      What gives life to the music is the feeling that jumps in during those pauses, during those sometimes incredibly quick split seconds when one note is just finishing its last echoing vibrations, but before the next one takes up the progression. The feeling slips, quick as a wink, into the gap and brings soul and life to the music. It is first felt, then expressed, by the composer. Then it is reborn with a familiarity, but also with the somehow new and unique contribution of each performer.

      The feeling lives in the rests. And not just with the rests in music, but with the rests in bus driving and kindergarten teaching and homemaking and managing and selling advertising and cooking supper and picking up the kids and phoning customers and writing reports and on and on. The feeling lives in what you put into the rests. And the rests always sound well!

      The quiet moments—rests—in your day make your whole day sound well.

      Rests always sound well.

      —Arnold Schoenberg

      As you go about your day today, notice the rests in the rhythm of the day.

      Rat Race

      The metaphor of the rat race as a way to talk about the nature of contemporary life is instructive. I wonder about its origin. And just what is a rat race? I picture a maze in some scientific laboratory with a dozen rodents scrambling in all directions, trying with great frustration to find their way to freedom. Is that a rat race? Did anyone tell the rats they were in a race? Is there really a winner in a rat race?

      And that we should choose this metaphor as a way to talk about the way we live our lives is…what? Alarming? “Well, we've got to get going and join the rat race.” We do?

      The metaphors we use not only reflect the way we live, but create the way we live. If we call life a rat race, it will tend to become one.

      So let's change metaphors. Here are a few suggestions:

      Life is a cat prowl. I envision slow and careful steps, a calm awareness of what is going on in my neighborhood, and a pace that suits my needs.

      Life is a dog walk. I move now with lively interest, with stoppings and goings, encounters with other dogs, trees, and people, always ready to respond to a friendly petting.

      Life is a fox trot. Here is a bouncy-stepped way to dance through life. Find a partner! You can always sit the next one out.

      Life is a monkey march. Life is a pony canter. Life is a whale breach. Life is a swallow soar. Life is a pig parade. Life is an elephant lope. Life is a bear excursion (the one I'd pick).

      The trouble with the rat race is even if von win, you're still a rat.

      —Lily Tomlin

      Spend a quiet time today and pick your metaphor for life's journey.

      Every Day

      These are the things Goethe wanted in his day, every day. What do you want in yours?

      Here is a snippet from a conversation I overheard in a busy downtown store between two middle-aged women:

      “It's so good to see you. We just don't seem to get together as much any more, and it seems so many of us are saying the same thing. Why is that?” said one.

      “I know exactly what you mean,” said the other.”It seems that there's always just too much going on.”

      I'm convinced we all really do know what is happening to the way we are in the world, compared to the way we want to be. As the woman said, there's always just too much going on. The problem is not what we don't know; it's that we somehow feel powerless to change it.

      When you have begun dealing with the problem of too much going on, you can start to identify just what you want to include in your “every day.”

      Even when you get together with your friend, you might discover that Goethe wasn't far off the mark. With your friend you might hear a little song (listen to some favorite music), read a good poem (discuss an article you recently read), see a fine picture (visit a museum or show a photo of your grandkids), or speak a few reasonable words (have an enjoyable conversation, catching up on each other's lives).

       One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

      —Goethe

      Today take some moments to decide what you want your “every day” to include. Repeat every day forever.

      Going to the Post Office

      You may depend on it,”Thoreau continues,”that poor fellow who walks away with the greatest number of letters, proud of his extensive correspondence, has not heard from himself this long while.”

      I think I know the cause of our cultural, spiritual, and social problems today, just as Thoreau knew 150 years ago. Our inward life is failing.

      Many of us know this, of course, and just knowing it doesn't change things. But what if someone—maybe you—could convince ten or twenty people to stop going to the post office for their information, and instead to stay quiet and recollected for a few minutes or even an hour a day to attend to their “inward lives”? What if I could do the same?

      I used to think that what we needed was a saint or a prophet: a modern-day Francis of Assisi who would call us to our senses by the power of his example and love; or a Joan of Arc to inspire us with her disdain for the acceptable, her single-mindedness, and her devotion to her voices.

      But we have saints; we've always had saints, canonized or not. We've always had prophets who are well attuned to their inward lives, who have voices of passion and love, voices of virtue and wisdom, who live lives of example and service, and who call us to the same.

      And still many of us keep on stumbling to the post office.

       In proportion as our inward lift fails, we go constantly and desperately to the post office.

      —Henry David Thoreau

      Today, find a way to redirect your trip to the post office to a journey to your inward life.

      Permission to Stop

      The author's words are a complaint that he had to have justification for doing nothing. He and his friends could not do nothing just because they wanted to; they had to have a very good reason, such as divorce. Then they could justify taking time off, or “wasting valuable time”—they had an excuse. They had just gone through something painful, and people would be hesitant to criticize them. Their guilt would be minimal.

      But then he wisely throws out that kind of thinking and gives himself permission—no justification necessary—for doing nothing.

      Unnecessary self-restrictions and false guilt burden many of us and keep us from the peaceful times we yearn for. Quiet time to be alone is not an optional nicety; nor is it just for the retired, the lazy, or those naturally inclined. It is for all of us. It is valuable time well spent.

      And above all, it needs no justification other than its own noble purpose: to become more fully awake and to remember what you most need to remember about yourself and your life.

       The only way we could justify sitting motionless in an A-frame cabin in the north woods…was if we had just survived a really messy divorce.

      —Ian Frazier

      Do you need permission for doing nothing? Here it is! Use

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