#010 — Ep. 10 — A Moment of Calm

Hello, and welcome to The Daily Absurd. I'm Rohan Mistry, and somewhere, a fridge is judging you. Today, we are going to try something different. Today, we are going to relax. I have been told by three separate people that I need to relax, and rather than examine why, I have decided to teach relaxation to others. That is how healing works. So find a comfortable position. Lie down, if you can. If you cannot lie down, simply imagine a version of yourself that has time to lie down, and be jealous of him.

Let us begin by taking a deep breath in. In through the nose. Hold it. Now let it out slowly, releasing all the tension you have been storing in your shoulders, your jaw, and for some reason, your feet. You have been clenching your feet since 2019. We do not know why. Let them go.

Field correspondent: I can't. I've forgotten how to have loose feet.

That's alright. That's a very normal thing to say inside a meditation, and not at all alarming. Let us simply acknowledge the feet, thank them for their service, and move on. In this space, there is no judgment. There is only breath, and the gentle hum of the refrigerator, which is judging you.

Field correspondent: Close the door.

The fridge is with us today. It asked to be included in the healing journey. We will allow it, because to exclude the fridge would create tension, and tension lives in the feet. Now. I want you to picture a calm place. A meadow. A quiet beach. Somewhere you feel completely at peace, with no responsibilities, and crucially, no notifications. Picture it. Really see it.

Field correspondent: There's a man at the edge of the meadow.

Ignore the man at the edge of the meadow.

Field correspondent: He's waving. He says he'll just be five minutes.

He will not be five minutes. He has never once been five minutes. But that is his journey, not yours. In your calm place, the man simply stands at the edge, waving, saying goodbye, for eleven minutes, nine of which are the goodbye itself. And you? You are at peace. You do not have to attend his goodbye. This is the boundary we have been working toward.

Now let us do a body scan. We start at the top of the head, and we move slowly down, noticing each part of the body, and gently asking it: are you okay? Are you tired? When did you last drink a glass of water that was not also a coffee? The head says it is fine. But the head always says it is fine. The head invented the word "fine" specifically so it would not have to explain itself. We continue down.

Field correspondent: Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt the calm.

Go ahead.

Field correspondent: It's your free thirty-day trial. It's just checking in. You seem very relaxed, and we wanted to gently remind you that you are still subscribed to us, and you will be charged on a Tuesday, forever. We didn't want the calm to get in the way of that. Namaste.

Thank you, subscription. You may return to the background of my bank account. Let us return to the breath. In. And out. Notice how the breath is always there for you, unlike the free trial, which is there for you in a completely different, more expensive way. Feel yourself sinking deeper. Deeper. Into a state of total relaxation, where nothing can reach you, except every single thing.

I want you now to release the things you are holding onto. That email you have not answered. Let it go. That slightly weird thing you said in 2014. Let it go. It does not matter that you still think about it every night at exactly 2 a.m. Tonight, when it arrives, you will simply greet it warmly, and say: "Ah. There you are. My old friend. The thing I said at the party." And you will let it float on by, like a leaf on a stream, except the leaf is a memory, and the stream is your inability to sleep.

Field correspondent: I let the leaf go and it came back.

Leaves do that. That is why we do not build our happiness on leaves. Now. Let us set an intention for the day. An intention is a small promise you make to yourself and then quietly break by 10 a.m. Today, my intention is to remain calm. To meet chaos with stillness. To be like water. Water does not panic. Water simply finds the lowest possible place and gives up, which, spiritually, is what I am also trying to do.

Field correspondent: The fridge would like to set an intention.

The fridge may set an intention.

Field correspondent: Close the door.

A beautiful intention. Simple. Achievable. Repeated for emphasis. We could all learn from the fridge, who wants only one thing, has always wanted only one thing, and will pursue that one thing with a low, constant hum until the day it dies. That, listeners, is focus.

As we come to the end of our practice, I want you to slowly bring your awareness back to the room. Wiggle your fingers. Wiggle your toes, if they have agreed to loosen. And know that you carry this calm with you, out into the world, for approximately forty seconds, until you check your phone. That is okay. Forty seconds of calm is still forty seconds. Some monks train their whole lives and only get to thirty-eight.

Take one final breath. In. And out. And when you are ready, and only when you are ready, open your eyes, and rejoin a reality that has, in your absence, gotten slightly worse. You are rested now. You are centered. You are still subscribed. That's the show. I've been Rohan Mistry. Wherever you are, whatever you're carrying, remember to breathe, remember to be kind to your feet, and remember to close the door.

Field correspondent: Close the door.