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Sensing the Simple Life
by Marian Van Eyk McCain
Editor's note: The following is an adaptation from the author's latest book, The
Lilypad List: 7 steps to the simple life (Findhorn Press, 2004).
I ONCE knew a beagle. Her passion was sniffing. She lived for the joy of smell. On
walks, she ran excitedly from one scent to the next, her entire body quivering with
delight.
One can only imagine her experience. But in fact we, too, have a sense of smell that
deepens and becomes more discriminating, the more it's used. (Think of a wine-taster.)
When I tell people that I write about living simply and lightly on the Earth, they
think I mean strawbale houses and free-range chickens. But to me, simple living is
really about bringing body, mind, heart and soul into alignment and learning to live
in harmony with the Earth -- which means reclaiming our senses.
We're still hunter-gatherers in our genes. Maybe in another billion years we'll evolve
bodies and psyches adapted to working in windowless factories or sitting for hours
watching TV, drinking sweet, fizzy drinks; creatures who no longer need, for their
deepest well-being, the sight of green landscapes, the smell of damp earth, the sound
of birdsong and running streams and the feel of sunshine on skin. Our legs might
even morph into wheels if we spend another million years driving everywhere. But
evolution moves slowly. So we remain hunter-gatherers in our body rhythms, our response
to seasonal cycles and our most basic -- often unconscious -- needs.
Most of the things that stress and sicken us are those which force us to live in
disharmony with this basic nature. Our senses are hard-wired to resonate with the
rhythms of moon and stars, seasons and weather, not the artificial demands of the
modern workspace. We have eyes programmed to respond to the shapes and colors of
forest and savanna, trees, earth and open sky. Our bodies and sense organs have co-evolved
with the plant world and the wild creatures with whom we share the planet. And our
hearts have been tuned by the millions of years we spent celebrating the cyclical
changes of the Earth, the miracle of new life and the return of the migrating birds,
not the banal rituals of reality TV.
We are adaptable creatures, but not infinitely so. Our eyes have learned to interpret
the cityscape well; we can pick out a Mexican restaurant from the window of a fast-moving
car, or spot our bank from blocks away. But we still flock to the park at lunchtime.
For these animal eyes still hunger for green, and these feet yearn for contact with
soft earth. If our lives become too busy to fit in the necessary exercise, or if
we spend too many hours inside artificially-lit, "climate-controlled" buildings
with their synthetic carpets and muzak, our bodies sicken and our hearts shrivel.
So the rule-of-thumb that guides me on my journey to voluntary simplicity is this:
When in doubt, ask the hunter-gatherer within.
To survive in this industrial culture, much of our bodily awareness gets filtered
out. We filter out the familiar, just as a person living near a railway stops hearing
the noise of trains. We filter out whatever threatens to impede our "important"
mental processes, like thinking, obsessing, planning, strategizing. We train these
hunter-gatherer bodies to keep quiet about their needs, to wait out of sight while
we write reports, make deals, check e-mail, watch the stock market, balance the books,
stand in line, hassle with traffic. This ability to ignore our bodies' whispered
needs can make us ill.
Worst of all, dulling our sensory awareness deprives us of the most important sources
of pleasure which we, as animals, have -- sensory appreciation. If we slow down enough
to savor the smell and taste of food, our meals can become a source of deep delight
instead of a fast, distracted refueling. The more we let our eyes linger on beauty,
the more delight it affords us. Think of a mother, watching her new baby as it suckles,
or a diver exploring the color and magic of a coral reef. Think of the majesty of
mountains, the pageant of a sunset, the vastness of a starry night or the amazing
world in a drop of pond water under a microscope.
Then there is our skin's hunger for touch, erotic delight, the exuberance of dance,
the joy of music and song. Think of all we are missing in any moment that we are
not fully in our sensing bodies. Add up all the moments -- hours, days, weeks --
we spend caught up in thoughts or spaced out in front of the virtual worlds of TVs
and Gameboys, switched off to the vast treasure/pleasure house of sensory awareness.
To compensate, we buy more stuff, seek more dramatic thrills -- more car chases,
more shoot-outs -- in a vain attempt to wake ourselves up. Yet, all we really need
to feel fully alive is to reopen the doors of perception and return to the fullness
of our hunter-gatherer senses.
This, to me, is a far more important step on the road to simplicity than building
with straw bales. When the senses are fully switched on, food becomes tastier, flowers
more fragrant, textures more rich, music more sublime, beauty more amazing. And sex
improves a hundredfold. In other words, ordinary life can become so full of delight
that you will wonder why you ever bothered with "entertainment."
It would be unfair of me not to mention the downside: the more wide awake all your
senses are, the more sensitive you become. Things that never bothered you before
-- loud music, chemicals in synthetic perfumes, stuffy rooms, cigarette smoke, tight
collars and waistbands, TV commercials, high-heeled/pointy-toed shoes and a million
other things -- might start to drive you nuts.
But is that really a downside? After all, what better barometer could you have for
knowing precisely where and how to simplify your life? Stay out of discos, stop using
"fragranced" products, open the windows, quit smoking, (and smoky bars)
wear comfortable, natural-fiber clothing, switch off TV, and every stressful annoyance
on that list will melt away. Your life becomes simpler -- automatically.
Marian Van Eyk McCain holds degrees in social work and East-West psychology and
was for many years a psychotherapist, workshop leader and health educator. She writes
on topics ranging from women's health and spirituality, personal growth, wellness,
and stress-management to environmental politics, organic growing and alternative
technology. She is the author of "Transformation through Menopause"(Bergin
& Garvey 1991), and "Elderwoman: reap the wisdom...feel the power...embrace
the joy" (Findhorn Press, 2002). Contact Marian via the Internet at www.elderwoman.org
or www.lilypadlist.com
Copyright © 2005 Marian Van Eyk McCain. All rights reserved. |
| June 2005 |
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