Want to know the difference between mindfulness and awareness? Read The Blind Man's Garden

Everyone remembers where they were or what they were doing when the tragic events on September 11^th took place. I distinctly remember the eerie silences that punctuated the news-anchor’s broadcast from my mom’s car radio. The phrases “towers falling”, “smoke”, and “American panic” separated the silences over and over, long after I walked into—and out of—my orthodontist appointment that morning. I remember the pain in the news anchors voice on that day as I vividly remember the silences and the sharp, tightened pain in my mouth: my teeth were adorned with double-wrapped red, white, and blue braces. Pain was everywhere.

I was mindful of all that pain, but not aware of the extent of just how many people were mourning that day—and the days after.

In my mind, there is a sharp difference between mindfulness and awareness. Mindfulness focuses on our perception of the present moment while awareness shifts our attention outward to the space and people outside of and around us. Time and again we must make the jump of looking outside of ourselves to appreciate and understand what is going on in the world.

It is a difficult thing to do, especially in times of crisis.

Published in 2013, Nadeem Aslam's The Blind Man's Garden intertwines the roles of mindfulness and awareness as Jeo and Mikal make their way away from, and back to, their home in small-town Pakistan before and after the September 11 attacks. Their friends and family wrestle with Jeo and Mikal’s presence as well as absence, and struggle with the balance of using mindfulness or awareness to deal with loss, death, and frustration about the pain and violence within and around Pakistan.

For the longest time I was riled up and angry about what happened on 9/11; my eyes bulged, and mouth was agape after seeing pictures of fallen buildings and horrified expressions from the onlookers in New York. I had the shocking pains of a wizened older woman in an eight-year-old body. My negative, mindful emotions were the exact opposite of the outward awareness characters like Jeo show in the novel. At one point, we come across an intimate moment between Jeo and Mikal. The narrator explains, “If love was the result of having caught a glimpse of another's loneliness, then he [Jeo] had loved Mikal since they were both ten years old.”

This quote hit home for me because Jeo is using awareness of others outside of his own inward observations to figure out how he can best help and be there for his friend. I have never thought of friendship, or understanding both sides of a horrid situation, in the same way as Jeo does in the above quote. As do many people, I try to stay away from immense amounts of sadness or loneliness because I soak up those feelings like a sponge. The aftermath of 9/11 is no exception to this, either. However, as a young American—as a person—I think I need to be able to be vulnerable enough now to attempt to look at the story of 9/11 from both (or more) sides. The Blind Man’s Garden gives us the opportunity to do just that; and I was finally able to abate the pain, rage, and frustration of my eight-year-old self. 

Whether it was the news, radio, or word of mouth from others, I was not given any other side of the story about 9/11 until I was much, much older. However, those narratives were presented to me in fragments and were pieces of mindfulness under the veil of awareness. The fragments of mindfulness were focused on American citizens and America as a whole—what about Pakistan? What about the men, women, and children who, like Jeo, Rohan, Mikal, and others, were reeling from the events of 9/11?

After 9/11 happened, I didn’t feel comfortable talking about the loss or pain at school; after I finished reading The Blind Man’s Garden, I was uncomfortable because of the realization that the narratives I was given and narratives I focused on completely sliced out the narratives that I needed to hear and see and know to get a better grasp on the event and how it affected people who were not Americans and lived outside of the U.S. As I glanced down at the last page of Aslam’s novel, I felt like I was living out the phrase “but the child is silent, looking as though he would rather understand than speak.” I needed to understand outside perspectives instead of just talk about them; mindfulness can only get us so far in the present. We are always looking outward to others to understand and appreciate what is going on every day. However, sometimes I berate myself because I continually look inward to appreciate what is going on outside of myself.

It is not about me. It is not about you. The world does not revolve around us and us alone.

Blind Man’s Garden, if anything, shows readers the implications of looking outward and being cognizant of how we move and interact and think by being aware of what is going on outside of our circles, “bubbles”, or communities.