On Simplicity and Beauty
Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play and pray, where nature heals and give strength to body and soul alike. ––John Muir
Yesterday I attended a Quaker meeting in a deep shaded grove. It was what some call a “popcorn meeting,” where, one after another, people spring from their seats to quote from poetry and conversations with therapists. And in the moments of quiet that came in between bursts, I listened to the forests sounds with my eyes closed or watched the way the sunlight came through the trees. One serious conclusion: I use the adjective “heavenly” far too colloquially.
There was a through-line to the talk: about the delicacy of feelings and the power of words to hurt or to heal. I had spent the previous week in my own feverish ways, annoyed, anxious, unable to concentrate. But there in the woods, I felt reclothed in my rightful mind. I remembered the importance of stepping out of the flurry of the day-to-day to stop and breathe. To sit in quiet. To experience fellowship. Why hadn’t I been going to yoga? Why hadn’t I taken the time to sit in the community garden? I knew both would reset my clock, but I just couldn’t find the time. I had stewing to do and worries to fret. Important stuff.
Simplicity is something I struggle with. My apartment tends toward clutter; with language, I often have trouble being plain. So much of what we say is for effect and response, to get a laugh or to seem smart. But someone is always on the receiving end of that talk, perhaps sadly so. I resolved there to think more carefully of how what I say affects others. Words, especially written ones, aren’t just play things. As Joan Didion says, “Writers are always selling somebody out.” Tread carefully.
Someone at meeting used the phrase “beauty is but a light switch away.” Morning googling has revealed this to be some kind of cruel pick-up line, but in the context of chirping woodland birds and senior citizens in chinos, I had interpreted it so differently: We only have to flip the switch to be bathed in beauty. Just as, we only have to shift our perspective to feel peaceful and accepting again. Sometimes that means sitting quietly in the woods or floating in a lake or having a glass of lemonade with someone you love. What I had forgotten is how utterly within my power it is to bring those feelings about in my daily life, and I know just how to do it. Sometimes we need only a gentle reminder of what we already know.
Meaghan: Long time reader, infrequent commenter stopping by to say that I absolutely loved this post. I’m trying very hard to make my summer all about this – quick evening trips to the pool to float around with my ears underwater, baking something with the TV/radio off. I just wanted to thank you for writing this and not only validating my “project” but phrasing it so brilliantly (and including Didion, because she is awesome).1 year ago
Meaghan, What is it about floating that makes it just about the most relaxing activity on earth? I love it too, especially while cloud-gazing. I’m really inspired by your project to tune out/tune in, and I’m so glad you commented.1 year ago
Amy C: Don’t you love the Quakers? They have such wonderful practices. One of my friends in college was a Quaker, and she just emanated peace. They always talk about the Inner Light, and I love that image – I like to invoke it when I need quiet, or gratitude, or space. I particularly need it now, as I am moving in two days and am elbow-deep in boxes and endless packing. Thanks for the reminder!1 year ago
Adrienne: Oh, this is such a nice post. I also have a hard time slowing down to enjoy the days as they zoom on by, but it’s been somehow easier this summer, perhaps because I’ve got big plans this fall (that is, a wedding), I’m trying to stay engaged during engagement.1 year ago
Emily C.: A very nice post to read in my dreary office. And you’re right about putting off things that are totally within our power to lift our spirits–I know that playing the banjo or going for a walk makes me happy, and yet I tend to ignore it in favor of other things.1 year ago
Amy, I love that about Inner Light. I definitely love the Quakers so, so much.
Adrienne, Congrats! And how amazing that you can stay in the moment during wedding planning! That is a major feat.
Emily C, Banjo? That’s amazing and would definitely lift my spirits. Maybe you’ll need a jam session post dreary office time.
1 year ago
Sara Rose: The Quakers here have garden meetings too!!!! At one of the prettiest parks in town and I’ve always wanted to go (but been far too chicken). This summer has been a rushed thing full of gritted teeth and exasperation for alot of people, S. You’re not alone, but definitely stepped beyond that by taking the time to recognize it.1 year ago
Nathalie: Reading your post reminded me of this poem by W.H. Davies, Leisure. I thought you might enjoy it
WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.1 year ago
Amber: Loved this.1 year ago
Jen: Reading this this morning was like getting a gift. Thank you!1 year ago
Sara: Sarah – Thank you. This post is wonderful. It reminds me, only an hour into my (already) frustrating work day, that I can have peace through simple things. It made me pause and remember that last night I had that peace and thrilling happiness just from hanging a new shower curtain with the most gorgeous, perfect new hooks, after finishing the flooring (laying tile & caulking) and washing the tub. For the rest of the day I can think of your great post and look forward to my perfect bathroom.
Nathalie – Love the poem! Thank you.1 year ago
Sara Rose, You should go! I was nervous to go to a Quaker meeting here in Brooklyn, but the Quakers are very warm and friendly.
Nathalie, I think I might post this as the Poem for July! It seems utterly fitting. Thank you so much!
Jen, Your comment is like a gift too! It’s like we’re Secret Santas!
Sara, I’m so glad you liked this post. Hanging a new shower curtain in a suddenly fresh and perfect bathroom would give me a feeling of peace too. I see a bubble bath in your future!1 year ago
beth: Some friends of mine had a Quaker wedding a few months back, and the entire ceremony was popcorn-style. (Though I didn’t know that’s what it’s called – I love that description.) I keep a card on my desk that has the words to a song we sang at their wedding, and I like its idea that beauty and peace are out there to be tapped into…
My life flows on in endless song
above earth’s lamentation.
I hear the real though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear that music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul –
how can I keep from singing?1 year ago
LOVE that. LOVE.1 year ago
Emily: What a lovely, plain, and honest post, Sarah. Thank you. It was sometime last year, I think, that I added you to my favorites after reading a post that so simply stated your exhaustion with the cheap overuse of buzzwords such as “local,” “organic,” etc. I was smitten–I felt as if you spoke for me. But lately–and please know that I say this gently, as a loyal follower and reader of all back-posts from the time I found you–your posts had started to read as if you were trying too hard, as if you’d become someone who was trying to be the “you” that you thought people expected. (Granted, maybe that’s just me, because I’d read the comments and they were full of applause, so… But the lemonade post would be a good example.) Anyway, this post–so honest, so unpretentious–is you at your best. Thank you. You have made my day.1 year ago
Gretchen: Sarah, brilliantly simple and I echo Emily’s comment: you at your best. Thank you for the gift. For as long as I can remember my Mom has had a little plaque in her kitchen with the following prayer, maybe other readers grew up with this as well, about elevating the simple acts of daily living into a prayer of thanks:
Lord of all pots and pans and things
Since I’ve not time to be
A saint by doing lovely things or
Watching late with Thee
Or dreaming in the dawn light or
Storming Heaven’s gates
Make me a saint by getting meals and
Washing up the plates.
Although I must have Martha’s hands,
I have a Mary mind
And when I black the boots and shoes,
Thy sandals Lord I find.
I think of how they trod the earth,
What time I scrub the floor
Accept this meditation Lord,
I haven’t time for more.
Warm all the kitchen with Thy love,
And light it with Thy peace
Forgive me all my worrying and make
My grumbling cease.
Thou who didst love to give men food,
In room or by the sea
Accept this service that I do,
I do it unto Thee.1 year ago
Emily, Oh no––I had so much fun with that lemonade post! I think maybe what you’ve been picking up on are my moods. Much as I’d love to have philosophical musings to write about every day, I just don’t. Sometimes I feel silly. Sometimes I don’t have much to say at all but I have an amazing recipe (or playlist or whatever) that I want to share with you all as soon as possible. So there’s variance in my tone and in the kind of posts that I do because that’s just who I am. But whether I’m being silly or serious, I really am always being sincere. It could also be that I just need a vacation––which I am about to take!
Gretchen, I love that prayer, especially the first stanza. Seems like the perfect thing to be on the wall growing up. My grandmother had:
I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.1 year ago
Emily: Sarah–how lovely and dignified for you to reply. You are indeed a class act. And all this poetry! So beautiful.1 year ago
Sarah: Love this post! It’s great when we have those moments to step out of our lives and think about the meaning behind what we do. The importance of words – thanks for that reminder.1 year ago
molly: Post. Comments. Everything. Just lovely…1 year ago