In January, we experimented with something new. We at Books@Work and a number of volunteers who subscribed for this special series undertook to read a story, an essay or a poem every day for about three weeks.  Intended as a springboard to think about mindfulness and to practice compassion, empathy and awareness (of ourselves and of the world we live in) the readings enabled – if nothing else – a few quiet minutes in the day to focus on something different, something literary or artful. Reading mindfully, we hypothesized, might be a way to decompress and engage our minds, with thought and deliberation. Along the way, we made some observations:

1. Reading fiction focuses us on interactions between people and on drawing connections between mindfulness and empathy.
2. Poetry’s careful attention to language and use of metaphor and simile helps us look at the everyday things – the small details – we might otherwise ignore.
3. Nonfiction essays open us to another’s perceptions and helped us notice what might often go unmentioned.

Reading mindfully isn’t only about the content we read. It’s also about the presence we bring to literature itself. Reading is more absorbing and more useful if we read with mindful awareness – if we focus our attention on detail, if we observe changes in style and structure. In fact, mindful reading might also be called “close reading”: reading with an eye for meaning, subtext and nuance. When we read mindfully, we find, we read well.

In the coming months, we’ll be continuing this mindfulness initiative periodically on The Notebook. And in case you missed our initial email series, we’re including a taste, below. If you’d like to revisit more of them, please let us know!

Robert Henri, The Stone Wall with Woods, 1918 [Public Domain] via Wikiart.org

Poetry: Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall”

When we practice mindfulness, we pay close, careful attention to the present: the state of our bodies, our thoughts and the world around us. We can read mindfully by paying similarly close attention to language, plot and character – by focusing and reading carefully.

Try reading Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.” You may want to read it twice. What stands out to you, in this poetic analysis of men and their landscapes?

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
Keep Reading . . .

Haronobu Suzuki, Hérons et Roseaux, c. 1750, Musée Guimet, Paris [Public Domain] via Wikimedia Commons

Fiction: Sarah Orne Jewett’s “A White Heron”

Paying close attention to the present helps us notice the small and large differences between people, places, and even things. We appreciate their unique qualities.

In “A White Heron,” Sarah Orne Jewett focuses closely on the child, Sylvia’s, perspective. Sylvia, in turn, is attentive to the animals and people around her. What is she able to see that others don’t? What might we learn from the story’s portrayal of a child’s perspective?

A White Heron

The woods were already filled with shadows one June evening, just before eight o’clock, though a bright sunset still glimmered faintly among the trunks of the trees. A little girl was driving home her cow, a plodding, dilatory, provoking creature in her behavior, but a valued companion for all that. They were going away from whatever light there was, and striking deep into the woods, but their feet were familiar with the path, and it was no matter whether their eyes could see it or not.

There was hardly a night the summer through when the old cow could be found waiting at the pasture bars; on the contrary, it was her greatest pleasure to hide herself away among the huckleberry bushes, and though she wore a loud bell she had made the discovery that if one stood perfectly still it would not ring. Keep Reading

Zhu Zhanji, Mouse and Stone, 1427, Palace Museum, China [Public Domain] via Wikimedia Commons

Essay: Wendell Barry’s “Whitefoot”

As, by asking us to attend to others closely, mindfulness helps us reach understanding and empathy for them, so too can it help us toward a better knowledge of the world we live in.

In his essay, “Whitefoot,” award-winning and prolific author Wendell Barry takes a close look at the life of a mouse—and the value of that life. What conclusions does this unique perspective move you toward? How does paying attention to the seemingly inconsequential alter your understanding?

Whitefoot

Her name was Peromyscus leucopus, but she did not know it. I think it had been a long time since the mice around Port William spoke English, let alone Latin. Her language was a dialect of Mouse, a tongue for which we humans have never developed a vocabulary or a grammar. Because I don’t know her name in Mouse, I will call her Whitefoot.

The name fits because her four small feet and all the underside of her were a pure, clean white. Her coat, above, was a reddish brindly tan. She had a graceful tail, a set of long elegant whiskers, perfect ever-listening ears, a fastidious nose, and black profound eyes shining with sight. She took a small feminine pleasure in being beautiful. Keep Reading

Image: Franz Marc, Deer in a Monastery Garden, 1912, Staedtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus, Germany [Public Domain] via Wikiart.org

Further Reading:

Reading for Mindfulness

Comparing Other Points of View: A Reading Journey

Beautiful Ideas: Shklovsky’s Theory of Prose

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