On Simplicity

Mind, Body, Soul

When I closed my eyes and prayed, using the word, simplicity, as my anchor—my rock to sit on during the prayer—what I saw was myself—my body—separated into three parts:

  1. my head
  2. my torso
  3. my hips and legs

I kept looking at that image.  It reminded me of that game we could play as children.  A person—perhaps just his face—broken into three parts.  Multiple faces, all broken along the same lines.  All layered on top of each other.  So you could flip different parts at different rates and mix and match the face.

A woman’s hair and eyes could have a man’s nose and mustache and a baby’s mouth sucking on a pacifier.

Lots of variations.

Except my image in my prayer on the concept of simplicity had only three parts.

No variations.

No freedom to mix and match parts with someone else’s parts.

Just myself.

Heart and hands

In my world, the head represents thoughts.  Which have little or no value.  They are, to me, like smoke that goes up the chimney.

The heart—of course—is the seat of our emotions.  Which are, in life, as valueless as thoughts.

Hands are our actions.  What we do.  Now—to God, anyway—there is real value here.

And feet are understanding.  They are what you follow when you don’t know where you are going.

So I thought about that in my prayer.

About how we can divide the parts of ourselves up.

Perhaps that is how we can simplify what is before us.

By focusing just on our thoughts when we are thinking over something.  Keeping our emotions out of it.  And not doing anything.

And the same with emotions, actions, and taking a direction in life.

Letting each speak for itself.

Until the time comes when we are ready to combine them.

Perhaps that is the definition of simplicity—being clear on each part before we combine any of them together.

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