Finding Beauty in Ordinary Things
On feeding your muse what she needs, quiet beautiful books, and practicing outrageous openness
I have found that the surest way of seeing the wondrous in something ordinary, something previously underappreciated, is coming to love someone who loves it. As we enter each other’s worlds in love — whatever its shape or species — we double our way of seeing, broaden our way of being, magnify our sense of wonder, and wonder is our best means of loving the world more deeply. —Maria Popova, The Marginalian
Welcome to my new subscribers—I’m so delighted and grateful you are here. I get so thrilled when a new subscriber signs up. And, huge thanks to my paid subscribers. You are helping to sustain me and the work I do. This is no small thing. Thank you! I love you.
I’ve been riding an intense rollercoaster of feelings and experiences lately. A nightmare trip to the emergency room last week in terrifying pain. Feelings of hopelessness and overwhelm, like I can’t keep up with all I’m supposed to do to turn my health around. And then, thanks to the amazing gifts of sacred fire at my monthly fire circle last Friday, I had a complete turnaround in my thoughts and feelings. I’m enjoying my days again and feeling much more positive about the possibilities for my life and health, though I certainly don’t know how things will turn out. (It helps that the wonderful folks at symptom management adjusted my medications, so I’m not in constant pain.)
I went to the library this week and discovered that what I’m seeking in a novel or memoir (or collection of stories or essays) are quiet, beautifully observed, and gorgeously written stories of the small details of our lives. The exquisite moments and revelations that occur in relationships and within ourselves. The astonishing wonders of the natural world. The questing and questioning that goes on in our hearts and souls. Books that, though they touch on hard things, are ultimately uplifting. I don’t need the grand adventure or intricate plot right now. Definitely, spare me trauma and violence, horrors and shattering.
In other words, I’m reading prose like a poet. Because what I’ve described above is what poetry does so well. Elevating the tiny moments to reveal their extraordinariness. Helping us to appreciate what’s right in front of us. In the gleam of light on a porcelain saucer, or the wind stirring the ivy leaves, or the song of the red-winged blackbird.
It’s remarkably hard to find books like this. So, I’d be immensely grateful if you know of any, if you would share them in the comments to this post.
I read a novel like this a few months ago and have been meaning to share it with you—The Beauty of Ordinary Things by Harriet Scott Chesman. I want to read all of her novels now.
The Beauty of Ordinary Things is like a poem, so beautiful and compact and right. It palpably healed something in me to read it. In my mini dark night of the soul some months ago, it helped me remember that it might be possible to just accept the world on its own terms, and myself in it, and see the beauty of ordinary things.
That novel is a rare kind of book. Rare to find something so well-crafted, with no excess, daring to be exactly what it is. It reminds me of the special power in language when it’s used with great care. I’m re-reading the novel now; it’s that good.
One of many beautiful moments in the book is when the protagonist begins a list of things that might make it worthwhile to stay in this world, which is something he is struggling with. Here’s his list:
meadows with cows
sheep and sheepfolds
dogs: Harry, Lily, and the rest
forsythia in my neighbor’s garden
the strong coffee my mother makes
my father’s books
In the simplicity and specificity of his list, there is a kind of grace. My heart opens wider when I read it, and I want to sit up and take notice of my surroundings.
The Beauty of Ordinary Things may not be the kind of book you are seeking, though I’m guessing, if you’re here reading this post, you have some affinity for this type of writing. But what’s helpful is to notice your own aesthetic and current desires and to feed those, to nourish your muse with what she’s calling for. Which might not be books at all, but something else. Cooking shows. Avant-garde jazz.
That’s what going to the library gave me this week, a clear seeing of what my muse needs now in terms of books. That clear seeing is a gift. So, even though I thought my date with my muse to go to the library was underwhelming at the time, I see that there were hidden treasures in it. And I did bring home a couple of books that I hope will satisfy her longing. I’ll let you know once I read them.
The Perks of Being a Paid Subscriber
I have a few juicy Wonder Sparks for you to play with this week to help you find more beauty and wonder in your days and help us connect with one another here as well. Wonder Sparks are one of the perks of being a paid subscriber.
Another perk is that a small group of us are going to be reading and discussing Tosha Silver’s Outrageous Openness: Letting the Divine Take the Lead. This is a book about how to turn your desires, needs, and troubles over to the Divine, instead of trying to will and effort your way to “manifesting” your desires. By practicing outrageous openness, one can discover greater peace, flow, and miracles. If you’ve been following along here on my Substack for a while, you’ll know that this is what I’ve been grappling with in my own life.
We’re going to have a few book group sessions on Zoom at noon Pacific Time on a Monday or Wednesday, and our own discussion thread to share how this practice is going in our lives. If you’d like to join us—(you don’t have to be able to attend the Zoom sessions)—become a paid subscriber (if you aren’t already) and, then, let me know in the comments below that you want to be part of the Outrageous Openness group.
Thank you for being here. On to our Wonder Sparks for this week…