Excerpt: Simplifying the Soul

Meditation: Give Something Away That You Are Not Using

I wrote my first novel in my early forties.  The story of a gifted young pianist, it required me to have much more knowledge of music than I in fact had, so I relied heavily on research and the input of my professional pianist sister.  It was she who convinced me that my protagonist should choose Beethoven’s last piano sonata as her recital centerpiece.  As she put it, “It’s sort of a legend that nobody can play both movements equally well.”

My goal as I wrote the book was to enter so deeply into the world of piano performance that readers would be convinced I was a real musician.  I bought a small cassette player and headphones (this was the early nineties), and every time I worked on the novel during the next two years, Alfred Brendel’s version of Opus 111 was pouring into my ears as I wrote.  After the novel was published, I stuck the tape away and pretty much forgot about it.  Once or twice a year, I would dig around until I found it, look at it fondly, and then perhaps listen to it for a few minutes before sticking it away again.  Though I considered it one of my most precious possessions, it was no longer of much use to me. 

One day, a Russian friend called to see whether a visiting group of Orthodox Christians might spend the day relaxing at our house between concerts.  “They’re tired,” she told me, “and they need some peace and quiet and maybe a good meal if you’ve got the time.”  I said yes, that was fine, and a few weeks later she deposited five young Russians at our front door.

We ate, we talked, and then Andrei, a violinist, asked if he could look through my music collection.  Of course, I told him, and soon he had pulled out the Alfred Brendel tape.  “I’ve never heard this one before,” he said, excited.  “Could I please listen?”

As the achingly familiar music began to flood the room, I could see him going into a trance.  Eyes closed, swaying, fingers drumming against his knees, he’d clearly entered Beethoven’s mental space, and I realized I must have looked much the same during those years of sitting at the computer with my headphones on, trying to negotiate an unfamiliar universe.

Just as the music ended, my friend arrived to pick them up for the next concert.  Andrei looked stricken.  “Oh, I wish there was time to hear it again,” he said.  “The whole thing!”  For a moment I hesitated, and then I thrust it into his hands.  “Take it back to Russia,” I said.  “Please.  Play it for your fellow musicians.” 

The desert fathers and mothers understood that clinging to possessions, no matter how precious or beautiful, is a form of servitude.  We cannot move easily when we are burdened by the things, however, lovely, we carry on our backs.  Their radical divestment of earthly goods later inspired St. Benedict, the father of Western monasticism, to take a firm stance against owning anything at all.

Though it hurt to give away that cassette tape, so rich in sentimental value, it felt better in the long run to know it was now in the hands of young Andrei.  As precious as it had been to me, it was, after all, only a thing.

Practice

Today, give away something you are not using, preferably something to which you are emotionally attached.  If you can, give it to the person who would most benefit by its presence in his or her life.  Pray for this person, and also for yourself, that you might taste the sweetness of being liberated from the seductive tyranny of beautiful possessions.

Table of Contents:

Introduction

Beginnings

Week One: Simplifying Space

Week Two: Simplifying the Use of Money

Week Three:  Simplifying Care of the Body

Week Four:  Simplifying the Mind

Week Five: Simplifying the Schedule

Week Six: Simplifying Relationships

Holy Week:  Simplifying Prayer

Conclusion