Looking around Komorebi when I got up this morning, I thought “I suppose this is extreme minimalism”.
I’ve read – avidly – about extreme minimalists (I love this video), and wondered for forty years how to get down to that place of walking between raindrops, passing imperceptibly through the busy world, moving on like Snuffkin in the first light of day.
I’ve read and read about St Francis and his first followers and Franciscans now, about Zen monks and Trappists, about gypsies living in vardoes and bow-tops, about Dan Price in his hobbit-hole and Daniel Suelo in his cave in Utah, about the Amish and about capsule wardrobes and beloved Innermost House . . . read and thought, thought and read.
It turns out that the Minimalist World has Important Minimalists in it – Minimalist Gurus – Legends! Who knew? Interesting people. They speak good sense, and have about them a kind of dignity and effectiveness that's so attractive.
Then suddenly it seems to have happened.
I’ve studied and struggled to get to where I am now, for a very long while. Yet at the same time it seems to be just something that happened to me, nothing more than who I am.
I am not yet where I want to be. I have a way to go. My guiding light is the word humilis – lowly, earthy, humble. My life is very reclusive, virtually invisible. My income is small, just hovering around the tax threshold, and I've figured out ways to earn a living by just being who I am and teaching the truth I see, helping out where I can from my own reality. My possessions are very few now. And yet, the less I have, the more clear it becomes how much I have. The simpler my life becomes, the better I can see the complications and accretions.
But for today I’ve been captivated by that insight into the nature of what I suppose is vocation – of a sort. That it is on the one hand something you must study and struggle for; and yet on the other hand it’s just something that happens to you, nothing more than the accidental inevitable of who you really are.