The idea of simplicity in our lives seems to be growing in our awareness.  We find that in an increasingly complex existence, simplification has an immense appeal.  We seem to have too many things, and our lives become filled with clutter, both physically and mentally.  Sometimes we yearn for simpler times when the world was easier to comprehend.  However, as I talked about in the Haiku section, simplicity can in itself be extremely complex, e.g.  fly fishing, ideograms, haiku.  Most activities, if enough skill is involved, can be reached through hard effort only, where the inherent complexity is reduced to apparent simplicity.  And beliefs…does one begin with elaborate formulations of thought only to simplify with study and time?  Do the gods and goddesses with their elaborate history become over time the one god and then a generalized “creator” that has no corporeality of any type?

     The movement toward simplicity seems to be spreading.  David Bruno has started what he calls the 100 Thing Challenge.  He is attempting to whittle his possessions down to just 100 items (See Time Magazine article June 5, 2008).  One thing this effort taught him was deciding what was really important in his life.

       I have only once experienced the exhilaration that comes from having almost nothing.  I was living in an apartment at the time and awoke about 3 am for some reason.  The door to my bedroom was half open and I could see a flickering orange light reflecting on it.  I rose and rushed into the living room to see that a fire had started in the corner of the apartment.  As I looked for something to put it out, the flames caught a large paper Japanese lantern that hung in the corner and with a loud whoosh and crackle the lantern, the curtains, the couch practically exploded in flames.  There I was, naked, the heat singing my face, my hair.  I could hear the window glass break and the distant shouts of somebody on the street.  Dense choking smoke filled the room.

     The smart thing to have done was to immediately leave the apartment…but I was unclothed, and loathe to run naked out on to the cold January streets.  So I ran back into the bedroom, pulled on a pair of blue jeans, ran back into blazing living room and tried to open the door which led into the hall way.  For some reason the door stuck, and at the first few tugs refused to open.  Since this had never happened before, I am not sure of the cause.  Perhaps the door expanded in the heat, or there was a pressure differential caused by  the superheated air.  I felt a moment that almost verged on panic, but then with a great tug I was able to open the door and go out into the pitch black hallway.   If I had been smart, I would have gotten to my hands and knees and crawled along that choking hall.  The next day I could see where its walls were darkend by the black smoke to within a foot of the floor.  Instead, choking on the smoke, I groped my way to the stairway door and made my way down to the first floor and then outside.

     Later, going to the hospital wearing nothing but my blue jeans, no shirt and no shoes (no service?), I felt a sense of release thinking about the loss of all my possessions (few though they were at the time!).  A new start!  A new beginning with nothing to tie or weigh me down.   I remember this sense of freedom and exhilaration today, when I ponder the immense burden of possessions that weighs my life down.  I think of the 100 Thing Challenge and wonder if it might be a worthwhile endeavor.  I would have to exclude my books from the calculation of course!

More infliction… 

Leave Taking 

 Shall I leave in the summer

 while cicadas shrill and

The nights are full of gardenia

and honeysuckle?

Or shall I leave in Autumn

with Crimson maples and

The harvest moon?

Perhaps in Winter with

the sting of sleet and

the rattle of bare branches

in a hopeless wind?

No! I want to go in

early Spring with

crocus and nodding daffodils

in a light mist with

rain dripping from the eaves…

“May I live simply, that others may simply live.” Mahatma Ghandhi 

My latest endeavor is to try and find a good pair of birding binoculars.  I’ve pretty much settled on Swarovski binoculars because of their high quality.  I can’t see spending money that would go for bills on such indulgences, but I can justify the expense by using Christmas and birthday money that I have thrown into a box over the past few years (I know!).

Anyway, I’ll be reporting back on whatever I decide upon.  My last pair of binoculars that I had for 25 years were stolen on a trip to Panama.  I made the mistake of having them in an outside pocket of my luggage which was stashed on top of the bus that I took.  They weren’t expensive binoculars (Bushnell) but they were old friends.  My previous binoculars were also stolen and I had them for about 17 years (my van was stolen at the same time).  These new ones that I buy will have to be guarded like the crown jewels since I will be spending a bit on them.

It’s funny how I become attached to inanimate objects.  They often become like old friends.   I remember an old metal stool that has been in my family since I was about three years old.  I remember when I was about four painting this stool with my mother.  We painted the seat red and the strong metal wire legs white.  I still use this stool and take joy in the memories that are evoked when I do.  Same with my first binoculars.  I bought them when I had no money really, and used them all through my undergraduate and graduate years.  I took them on many birding expeditions and they always worked just fine even though they were inexpensive.

After my mother’s father died at age 95, the only thing that I wanted of his was an old shovel that he had used for many years.  When I used to visit him and my grandmother, we would often walk about his property, and he would always carry that old shovel.  He would chop weeds with it, or dig holes, and he used it exclusively in his large garden.  The point of the shovel was worn away and sharp as a knife, and the handle was worn smooth and silky by his hands over the years.  Every time I touch the shovel, a cascade of memories come tumbling back…and I smile happily.

When my father’s mother died at age 93, all I wanted was an old cast iron skillet that she had used for many, many years.  I  used to see her cooking breakfast with it for me and my grandfather.  I have the skillet on my stove now and use it all the time. It works almost like one of those new fangled non-stick pans.  The surface has become permeated with oils and grease over the course of half a century and more to the extent that food won’t stick easily. The value of these simple objects lie not in their monetary value of course, but in the patina of use and age along with the memories that have soaked into their very essence. I am reminded of the Japanese concept of sabi when I think of their importance to me.