Age Quod Agis

Father Birge would open the door, pop his head into our classroom, his eyeglasses slid halfway down his nose, interrupt the teacher (say, Father Giuliani) and the class (e.g. [exempli gratia], Latin class), and declare:

'Age quod agis.'

We'd hoot and howl. Lustily boo. Pretty much saying, "C'mon, Father, get outta here."

Everybody would laugh. But he had a point. After the laughter died, has died, I get the point lo these many years later.

Age quod agis.

Do what you are doing.

It's hard for my attention-addled-surplussed mind. It's hard in a world abhorrently demanding that hideous term "multitasking."

Age quod agis.

Attention. Focus. Concentration. Mindfulness.

Serenity.

I struggle to surrender to that concept.

Whenever I do, I'm more centered and peaceful.

I'm going to lunch now. I'll likely break my own Age Quod Agis code by reading the paper while eating.

At a nearby food court.

At least the TV won't be on and I won't have earplugs transmitting music and I won't be talking on a cellphone (maybe) and I won't be blogging on a laptop.

Not this time.

Do what you are doing.

Pure.

Minimalist.

The simple life.

Coulda woulda shoulda. Maybe I can. Today.

(I can't resist a shamelessly self-serving pitch: my www.laughorism.com site has Age Quod Agis mugs, shirts, stickers, et cetera --even thongs and boxers. Why not?)

Out to lunch now.

Mo' later.