by Ang Kia Yee

I would like to spend more time here, in this room of ease. In a way it is a selfish space, where I write for you and myself, and we both read me. It comforts and surprises me – both that I’m still blogging and that there are still people who read blogs. I still miss the golden Blogspot years, where everyone had a blog and I spent nearly all my time online cycling my way through a list of friends’ and strangers’ blogs, reading and reading. I would also like to read someone’s personal blog.

I’ve been closing a few channels down for myself, like Twitter. After a long period of loose trial and error, I’ve also found methods and rules for handling emails and text messages that work for me, and it’s been good. I think I would have been a little sad about this previously, but now I’m thankful and happy that I can compartmentalize the flow of information and energies that come to me. It helps me sustain more periods of inner silence, which adds to the clarity I now have.

I really feel and know I am in a season of harvest. Yet there is also a transition happening slowly, moving me toward something else. I can smell it in the air and I am in no rush to know what it is. Sitting here is lovely, is gentle, is good.

I think my questions now are leaning more toward ones like, how can I share this energy with other people? How can we initiate and cultivate a space where this peace is possible for a community? And I don’t feel this has to be a serious community of Buddhists or even people who meditate. It could even just be a group of friends. I’m wondering how I can expand this bubble of joy and ease into a shared inhabitable world. Yet I know this time I cannot move too quickly or impatiently, or perhaps I sense that to do so would not only compromise the sharing, but also the peace I now have. I must move gradually, I must learn to accumulate a future little by little, through small efforts and simply persisting within my plentiful life. Simply persisting can be enough, for a life accumulates on its own without you deciding that it will.

What I mean, in a way, is that the political work I want to do is centred upon the durational act of living, both on my own and together. Perhaps that is a very small thing, to insist and live on a life on my own terms. But I think the terms I want to live on are ones which, if I can repeat into a temporary permanence, will prove that a different life is possible. And that gesture, which I will perform with my whole life, might be political work enough.