Brain clutter and tai chi

I am practising tai chi, concentrating on the stretch going from my shoulder to my fingertips – for about 20 seconds, then my mind wanders off in another random direction. Why do I seem to have no control over my brain whatsoever? Surely I should be in charge and if I’m not, then who is?

The camellias outside the window remind me of the flowers that Frida Kahlo always wore in her hair, then I start thinking about Mexico and how easy it is to be a vegetarian there. This leads naturally to what we’re going to have for supper and before I know it I am mentally writing a shopping list. No, I think, stop it, concentrate on moving your weight forwards into your toes and backwards into your heels. Then I’ll start thinking about the action of walking and where we’ll walk that afternoon, and on it goes.

This random thinking doesn’t apply only to tai chi practice – it seems to make up a large part of my life. I read about authors who take long walks and compose entire chapters of their latest novel in their heads while they’re doing it. If I’m walking by myself my mind merely flits from one inconsequential thought to another. Or, worse, fixates on a problem which certainly can’t be solved while strolling through a wood. Like why I always seem to find time to read the newspaper, but not to weed the garden.

So what is the solution? Buddhists seem quite good at emptying their minds of all fluff and concentrating on what’s important. I worry that if I did that there wouldn’t be a lot left to sift through. I think deciding what’s important might be the problem. This is a sweeping generalisation, but the people in the Buddhist countries I’ve visited seem somewhat gentler and more serene on the whole than those from other countries. Perhaps they instinctively know what’s important. Although there is no trace of this calm attitude in the frantic noise and chaos of their roads. It could be worse, though, at least they don’t add cows to the mix the way they do in India.

Being a practical person, I decided that science might help with all this, so I am doing an online course on the brain. Although the brain is remarkably fascinating, it’s literally mind-bogglingly complicated and I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that if it baffles leading neuroscientists it’s not going to lead to any form of enlightenment for me.

So I sit here with my mind now officially boggled and therefore even more cluttered than it was before. There’s probably a moral to this tale, but I can’t seem to locate it.