The habit of nothing.

Let me tell you how things are.

I know that’s a big request, and it’s a dangerous one too, because it could easily turn out that I’ll take that permission and merely indulge myself with it, and then you’d be bored and potentially pissed off with yourself.

Nevertheless, opportunist that I am, I will take your continued presence as a tacit acceptance of your willingness to Let Me Tell You.

How things are.

In May, we had an unusual early period of monsoon here that lasted a couple of weeks.

After that, it went dry, until the normal date for the start of the real monsoon had passed, and then well passed. It varies of course, so it’s hard to put a number of days or weeks to it. But … it was late.

Then a few days ago it looked like it was finally here. The days were warm, but there was a telltale buildup of clouds in the afternoon. The day before yesterday it actually rained; not a lot, but enough to call it rain instead of sprinkles.

Yesterday the clouds came, but too late and thin to do any good, so it went up to 103 degrees.

For the next four days it is forecast to get steadily worse. No clouds, and finally up to 105, with the night time temps crawling up until it won’t be less than 70 in any part of the 24 hours.

Very likely it will be the most scorching four days of the year.

I’ve filled the water jugs and I am up long before dawn and I feel ready, and as if there will be siestas.

When I woke it was too early and I didn’t have the feeling I would be able to sleep again right away in the proper slot–this has happened often since I started walking.

So I came here and wrote.

There was a phrase ringing vividly in my ears as I woke, and sat to type.

The practice of nothing.

I don’t understand what it means, though it sounds ominous and full of portent and kind of Zen at the same time.

I have a vague hope that the four merciless days will bake it into something comprehensible and maybe even useful.

Let me ask you to pray and practice nothing with me.