Notified

When my grandsons are watching videos on their mother’s phone or playing games on my iPad, they display intense concentration, which is not really surprising. We have all seen such things when young people hold screens in their hands.

What amazes me is how they so easily dispense of notifications. They seem to have accepted that when using someone else’s device a little bar will pop up telling the owner of the machine about some email that has been added to the inbox or that an acquaintance has posted on Facebook. Both kids are able to merely swipe the notification away with a touch so deft the maneuver appears to be merely a part of what they have on the screen.

I am thinking of this today because I covet such concentration. I have been relearning how to meditate, adding the practice to my time of morning reading and reflection. Conventional wisdom is that when a thought comes to compete with the process of meditation (or any form of prayer), one should sweep it away without judging it good or bad, returning to the mantra as best as one can.

Such actions are easier said than done, as anyone born since the internet came into our lives can attest. Reading a book or doing work on my computer, I may see a notification that my turn has come in a game of Words With Friends or that someone has commented on my recent Instagram post, and I have to struggle to withhold the tap or click that takes me away from what I need to concentrate on.

Dear readers, I know some of you are saying, “There are ways to work around distractions,” followed by all your suggestions. I know, and I employ many of them. And some of you are thinking, “Of course your grandsons are fully focused on what is on the screen. That’s the effect of screens on people so used to them.” However, when those same boys play with Legos or reading quietly, they easily brush away the noises around them: baby sister crying in the other room, Dad speaking to an employee on the phone, Mom calling them for supper.

What impresses me is their amazing ability to center on their activities, whether on or off devices. It is something that is perhaps wired in the brains of children that we adults, with our worries and to-do lists, manage to erode over time. But I am reminded of Christ saying, “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Part of the kingdom may well be the peace should result from prayer or meditation.

At least for today, this is the notification I am trying to tap.

Michael Neal Morris teaches English at Eastfield College and is the author of Based on Imaginary Events, Release, Music for Arguments, and other books. A book of prose poems (for now, dimly) is forthcoming from Faerie Treehouse Collective. His poems and stories have been published in both traditional print journals and online magazines. He lives with his wife, children, and two snarky cats outside the Dallas area.

Add Comment