The soul grows by subtraction, not addition.
— Henry David Thoreau
This week, an idea that sparkled1 for me was “consider subtraction first.” It’s so true we often look towards adding before we consider subtraction.
Stressed out? Add this tea.
Too busy? Add this calendar or Ap.
Too Tired? Add this sleep routine.
Too cluttered? Add this box or basket.
What if we consider subtraction first?
What if instead of indulging our impulse of addition to solve problems, we first asked what can I remove?
What if our aim was to give our soul elbow room?
Subtraction is genuinely a smaller and deeper principle. Smaller invites us on a journey to the essence. Smaller asks what is at the core? What truly matters, and how can I remove that which distracts me?
This brings me to the practice of writing haiku. Every time I sit down to write a haiku, it’s a mental and spiritual subtraction practice. I usually know the idea or concept that I wish to express. The challenge comes in fitting the words into the space- seventeen syllables. In the form of five, seven, five syllables. It’s never as straightforward as it seems. Each haiku requires some distillation. I have to ask myself (over and over again) what I am trying to say? I have to refine the idea in my own mind and understand the core of the concept. Haiku writing is a spiritual practice of subtraction.
As you walk through the coming week…
May you be bold in subtraction.
May you be set free from the compulsion of addition and find freedom in the joy of release.
May the small practice of subtraction bring the blessing of deeper joy.
Maybe you can find a way to practice the spiritual art of subtraction this week. Perhaps you can focus on one (just one) area of life: your closet, your calendar, your bookself, your shoe rack. What one thing can be removed?
Try writing a haiku! It’s just seventeen syllables (give or take-there is grace). The first line should be five syllables, the next seven, and the final five. (When you write a haiku-you can share it in the comments or reply to this message-all those notes comes straight to my inbox!)
Just a reminder we published a Haiku book in December! We would love for you to check it out. If you do, would you leave a review? Amazon reviews help little books find their way in the world!
The Seeker and the Monk: Everyday Conversations with Thomas Merton by Sophfronia Scott.
Thomas Merton is well quoted and a beloved modern mystic. This book was the perfect introduction to his writing and ideas. I have tried to read his writing in the past, and it just hasn’t clicked for me. I have a much better understanding of him through this conversational book. This was a really lovely, thought-provoking, practical book.
Merton himself had a mistrust of and distast for large-scale demonstrations. “We tend to think massive protest is all that is valid today,” he writes. “But the massive is also manipulated and doctored. It is false. The genuine dissent remains individual. At least that is my opinion.”
-Sophfronia Scott The Seeker and the Monk: Everyday Conversations with Thomas Merton
My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout
I loved this one as much as Oh, William (which I mentioned last week). Elizabeth Strout is such a good writer. These books are written in the first person in the voice of Lucy. On the one hand, I feel like I know so much about the mysterious Lucy, and on the other hand, I have so many questions. Both Oh William! and this book are short but so delightful.
“This must be the way most of us maneuver in the world, half knowing, half not, visited by memories that can’t possibly be true. But when I see others walking with confidence down the street, as though they are free completely from terror, I realize I don’t know how others are. So much of life seems speculation.”
― Elizabeth Strout, My Name Is Lucy Barton
I try and pay attention to words or phrases that stand out to me in my reading and listening. There is a spiritual practice called Florliledgium that collects short, interesting pieces {words that “sparkle” up} and put them together. This is kind of like that. Watching for things that sparkle. Gathering them and seeing how they work together and what message, mantra, or new idea might arise.)
A Practice:
Read slowly.
Notice if a word or phrase stands out to you.
How do the words make you feel?
Is there an invitation?
(I’m sharing in italics the lines that stand out to me in these passages. Maybe it’s the same, or maybe it’s different, there is much food for thought in each of these passages)
“The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them”
― Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island
“Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. When there's a big disappointment, we don't know if that's the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure. Life is like that. We don't know anything. We call something bad; we call it good. But really we just don't know.”
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times
Here. Come here. Take a moment to set aside that list you’ve been writing in fluorescent ink. The list that converts tasks into emergencies…Gather your burdens in a basket in you heart. Set them at the feet of the Mother. Say, “Take this, Great Mama, because I cannot carry all this sh*t for another minute.” And then crawl into her broad lap and nestle against her ample bosom and take a nap. When you wake, the basket will still be here, but half its contents will be gone, and the other half will have resumed their ordinary shapes and sizes, no longer masquerading as catastrophic, epic, chronic, and toxic. The Mother will clear things out and tidy up. She will take your compulstions and tranmute them. But only if you freely offer them to her.”
― Mirabai Starr, Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics
*Sparkled is my simple version of Lectio Divina, the idea of reading until something catches my attention and pausing with that idea.