inhale. exhale.

photo: clouddinner

I sat alone with my laptop and a cup of tea, determined to make a sufficient list of items for a wishlist. I struggled, more this year than past winters. I need little, I want little. Perhaps it was recalling this year's simplifying; I donated half of my possessions nearly a year ago, and I have little desire to replenish the supply. I have curbed my book-buying addiction by ordering books to borrow from the library. I do the same with films; there is no need for me to own films but a beloved few, because I embrace films as I do much of life: a brief imprint, a fleeting but deeply meaningful experiment in existing. In the end, I chose to list a few things that would enhance something I enjoy for its organic nature, attention to this moment and deepening of the senses - cooking. A high-quality chef's knife to improve my cutting skills, and a set of cast-iron skillets. A copy of Keri Smith's How to Be an Explorer of the World (her books are some of those rare essentials to own- they serve as ongoing reminders to live in the moment and make art out of everything).

I realised that by filling my life with more stuff I would only deprive myself of the exhilaration to be found in the tiniest, most unnoticed aspects of life. An ideal holiday celebration would be a solstice festival focusing on the social cooking and eating of hearty, healthy foods and creating (singing, collecting leaves, drawing, dancing) with loved ones - perhaps even crafting gifts together. All gifts would be handmade: home movies stitched together, lopsided home-sewn stuffed creatures, poems and songs and performances, baked goods to take home, plants grown from seed, scribbles on paper, scribbles on scrap wood, scribbles on the backs of hands.

“Be content with what you have, rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.” - Lao Tzu