67
Some say that my teaching is nonsense.
Others call it lofty but impractical.
But to those who have looked inside themselves,
this nonsense makes perfect sense.
And to those who put it into practice,
this loftiness has roots that go deep.
I have just three things to teach:
simplicity, patience, compassion.
These three are your greatest treasures.
Simple in actions and in thoughts,
you return to the source of being.
Patient with both friends and enemies,
you accord with the way things are.
Compassionate toward yourself,
you reconcile all beings in the world.
–Tao Teh Ching, Lao Tzu (Stephen Mitchell Translation)
Many Taoist tales, poems, and stories remind us to keep to the simple things in life.
Many times it’s the little things we remember most. The way a friend used to wear a furry pink sweater. The way coffee smelled as it permeated a coffee house on a drizzly day. Your grandma’s orange curtains. The sweet way a cat used to play catch with twisted pipe cleaners…
Your memory–our lives are made up of small, simple things which make us smile. If you’re missing out on a record bank of those little bits of universal DNA, take a little time each day to “stop and smell the roses.” Pay closer attention to colors. To the way light bounces off a vase. The way a car sounds when it starts. You’ll take delight in the tiniest things which to some seem mundane.
Today, Ken, Robert, and I wandered into Saver’s Thrift Store. I love thrift stores for many reasons–including the whole recycle angle. I also enjoy the possibility of stories behind each broken big wheel or discarded Adirondack comforter.
We wandered through, poking fun at garish, 1970s pottery. Admiring the wall of bad art (sand paintings of misshapen eagles and paint-by-number inspired Bassett Hounds in cheap frames). Each item was silly, fun, inspiring, and sometimes just so innocent in its own ridiculousness (like a bizarre olive-brown coffee mug from some exotic island) that you just have to love it.
It seemed like we were in there for hours, enjoying every last little angle, texture, color, and use. We found bizarre kitchen items that we couldn’t identify. An odd, full size, hairless dried coconut. A book on potato bonsai. A single cleat. A bag full of pens & pencils culled from somebody’s junk drawer.
It was fun. Simple. Engaging.
I walked away with a Lite Brite (something I’ve always dug; so simple in its own plastic glamor) and began a collection of kitschy, oddball snow globes. Not the big fancy style–but the celluloid-inspired, solid blue or green background dime store variety. Cheaper. More complete. With oddly shaped snowmen and weird old women with bellows near a fireplace.
Sometimes slowing down and observing is the most rewarding type of simplicity there is.
