Contents

• Friends and the Testimony of Simplicity
• Simplicity as Testimony
• Confessions of an Un-Simple Friend
• Simplicity and Children—What is the Nature of our Responsibility?
• Musings on Simplicity
• Simplicity: Worship, Justice, Community
• Simplicity
• Simplicity Never Goes Out of Style
• Live Simply
• Simplicity in a Busy Life
• Eco-Simplicity in the Big Apple
• Letting Go as a Spiritual Discipline in the Context of Simplicity
• My Experiment with Addiction
• State of the Meeting Report: Looking Back Over 2006
• The Eco-Spirituality and Action Curriculum
• Framing a Balanced Budget—a Spiritual Experience
• Budget Letter from Clerk of Financial Services Committee
• Covenant Donations for 2007
• New York Yearly Meeting Proposed 2007 Operating Budget
• QUNO Job Opening
• NEYM Job
• Elizabeth Ann Bogert Memorial Fund Grants
• Task Group on Youth
• Friends Historical Association Annual Meeting
• AVP at Arthur Kill
• Letter to Editor
• December Representative Meeting
• Notices

F r i e n d s    a n d    t h e    T e s t i m o n y    o f    S i m p l i c i t y

Simplicity as Testimony

Liseli Haines, Mohawk Valley Meeting

Some time ago I was talking to my sister, who said that she had always thought of Integrity as being the central testimony that Quakers live by. It had always seemed to me that Simplicity was the central testimony. But I realized that all the testimonies—peace, equality, simplicity, integrity, community—are central. They are like the cloth of our lives, each thread a strand of the truth, a Testimony. Sometimes the sun shines on one thread and brings its glory into focus and sometimes on a different thread, but they are all woven together and cannot be separated. If one wears thin, the other strands hold the cloth together to keep it from unraveling.

I once led an interest group on simplicity at Yearly Meeting. After the first day I realized that there were two types of people attending the group. All were interested in simplicity, but it was hard to get them on the same page. There were the practical people who spoke of responsibly disposing of unwanted articles, recycling, buying at thrift stores, having a car that got good gas mileage. All good things to do. Things we should all be doing. And I imagine everyone in the group was doing similar things. But there were others who chose simplicity as a path rather than as a goal—simplicity as a path to a new relationship with God.

For millennia some people have chosen simplicity so that their material possessions would not distract them from God's light. Christian monks and nuns, Buddhist monks, and early Quakers are all examples of these people. George Fox said "Neither be cumbered nor surfeited with the riches of this world, nor bound, nor straitened with them, nor married to them; but be free and loose from them, and married to the Lord." The possessions of our lives are a way of busying and distracting our minds from a deeper purpose, our relationship with the Creator.

The two paths of simplicity get us to the same place of living lightly on the earth. But I can see one big difference between these two paths. The people who live simple lives to decrease their "footprint" on earth and to move in the direction of equalizing use of resources often come to simplicity through an anxious desire, knowing they cannot solve the problem, but at least they can help. There is anxiety. There is some fear. However those who come to simplicity through a desire to be closer to God often come to simplicity with joy, with gratitude for the abundance of the earth. And abundance there is.

Duane Elgin, the author of Voluntary Simplicity, wrote, "Simplicity of living means meeting life face to face. It means confronting life clearly, without unnecessary distractions, without trying to soften the awesomeness of our existence or mask the deeper magnificence of life with pretentious, distracting, and unnecessary accumulations. It means being direct and honest in relationships of all kinds." Simplicity may be about how many things we own and how we live our lives, but it is surely about how we choose to spend our days, what we choose to engage our minds, and how we offer each of our actions as a prayer to God. Is my every word and action worthy of my Love for God?

A quote that has been very important in my life is one from Douglas Steere, who was a professor at Haverford College. He said, "The essence of a simple life—to be present where you are and to turn with spontaneous joy to each new activity." This quote shapes my life. And any time I am feeling tired and crabby I just need to say "spontaneous joy" to burst out laughing.

Disciplines can help to keep us on this path to simplicity, to being present where we are. Some people find a discipline in journaling or the practice of yoga. A discipline that I find important is walking. The rhythm of the walking grounds me and clears my mind. I get to think great thoughts. I get to really notice the changes in the seasons and the place that I call home. But it has also helped me to get to know my neighbors better as I see many of them on my walks. It has increased my sense of community and belonging and interdependence with people who don't necessarily think as I do. It also brings to me the wonders of my home, this place, and the earth. All this is a journey to simplicity.

I was walking early one morning down my road. The sun was just coming up. I noticed one small cornflower just beginning to open and the color of that blue flower, with the sun shining into the opening petals, was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. I could only gaze at it and wonder at its beauty. I could not hold on to it. I could not possess it. But I could enjoy the moment and the flower and thank God for the abundance of life.

"The essence of a simple life—to be present where you are and to turn with spontaneous joy to each new activity."

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Confessions of an Un-Simple Friend

Christopher Sammond, Bulls Head-Oswego Meeting

I really struggle with our testimony of simplicity. In my twenty years as a Friend, I can think of only a few brief periods when I feel I have lived it with integrity. In those times I experienced its spiritual benefits: clarity, inner peace, capacity to hear inner guidance, the joy of being fully present. I know living out this testimony to be the way I wish to lead my life. And yet I do not. This discrepancy between my experience and my practice can teach me a lot, if I am willing to look at it.

But before I share how I struggle to live out this testimony, it feels important to name my sense of why we have it at all, why simplicity has been a core practice for Friends for most of our history.

We do not practice simplicity out of some sense of moral or ethical obligation. We are not trying to "do it right" in order to be proper Quakers, or even just good people. The testimony of simplicity arose out of Friends' practical spiritual experience. It is pragmatic. If we are to stay in touch with the Inner Teacher, moving toward a life grounded more and more in the Light, then we need to reduce the number of things that demand our attention, so that it is possible to do so.

A famous example of this was John Woolman's decision to sell off part of his business when it had become too successful. He felt it was "encumbering" him to the point that it made it difficult for him to live his life as a Friend. He put his capacity for spiritual connection above worldly success and security. I wonder if I would have been willing to do the same. My life experience thus far would argue that I would not.

When I was a building contractor there were one or two periods when I chose to not take on any jobs that required more than an occasional helper and intermittent support from a few subcontractors. This was a marked change from the times when I ran one or two crews of several carpenters each and a slew of subcontractors. That level of business required an enormous amount of energy and outward focus, as there were almost daily small crises that needed immediate attention. It was constantly stressful.

I chose to put that aside in order to have less of a disconnect between my life as a Friend and my work life. I worked more slowly and intentionally. I paid attention to my breathing and the beauty of each day's changing weather. At times I succeeded in practicing the presence of God. At the end of the day I felt good, instead of exhausted.

I can't remember with certainty how I left this pattern, or what drew me away. It may have been any of three or four tempting life opportunities—a demanding design-build job with fun creative possibilities, an opportunity for Quaker service that required a lot of time, being led to go to seminary, a new relationship.

That I don't know for sure what it was that drew me away is significant, because that is how I believe most of us lose our commitment to living out the testimony of simplicity—by small, almost imperceptible degrees. Whatever it was that I added to my life, perhaps even being led to do so, I did not do at those times what John Woolman did, and discern whether that addition made the total too much, and then look at what I needed to let go of in order to make room for this new piece.

Leading a life of excessive busyness has been my norm. It was what I was raised with, and it takes conscious focus and energy for me to live life in a different pattern, even when I have experienced living from that different pattern as wonderfully beneficial.

But as I look at my difficulties with this testimony, I have to acknowledge a deeper level of resistance than being stuck in a pattern of heaping too much on my plate from life's abundant smorgasbord. I have to acknowledge a deeper fear, one that motivates my piling my plate too high. If I keep my life simple, if I preserve my capacity to hear Spirit clearly, I know that I will be forced to make the difficult choice of either not acting on what I hear, or changing my life. And not just changing my life a little, because that has not been my experience of how Spirit works. Making that choice means letting Spirit turn it inside out and upside down. And I am not ready for all that change all at once. I want to moderate it somehow. (Moderate is a nice word for control.)

So I stay too busy.

Simplicity clears the springs of life and permits wholesome mirth and gladness to bubble up; it cleans the windows of life and lets joy radiate. Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, Faith and Practice, 1955

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Simplicity and Children—
What is the Nature of our Responsibility?

Mary Rothschild, Brooklyn Meeting

I must speak to you from my heart. Though I was not a Quaker when my children were little, the decisions my husband and I made were similar to those made by many Quaker families and those of faith communities. Little or no TV. Lots of family time. Putting a high priority on communication. Finding all the practical ways to bring our values into our everyday life. Emphasizing the joys of a simple life. I know the sense of satisfaction and control those decisions can bring. Objectively, being an intentional parent is superior to the alternative. When people say complimentary things about one of my daughters, I say "She was born that way." But, in truth there is some part of me that takes a kind of smug credit.

I probably would have stayed content with that role and those affirmations, probably would have felt successful in my life in a very special way if I hadn't also run a program for pre-school children in New York City. There, I had a chance to see parents who were also trying to be attentive to their children, but many of whom did not have a community of faith or a family structure that supported making daily decisions on the side of simplicity rather than going with the popular culture. Little by little, their children and homes become inundated with influences and objects devised by advertisers to extract money from them and to make younger and younger children wedded to their brands for life. That experience clarified for me how much at risk our children are to the ways that consumerism subverts the testimony of simplicity.

Sue Tannehill's account (Spark, 5/05) of the moment that gratitude needed to be made visible for her son was a vivid illustration of what is most essential—observing our children and being attentive enough to grow with their needs and gifts as a parent/caregiver. This is true "holding children in the light" and it begins in our own homes. Seeing what is going on there is, clearly, the first step.

Next, we must look at our meetings and schools. What happens when our Quaker schools and meetings hesitate to practice discernment on this issue? Perhaps we hesitate because we know all too well how fragile our own situations are.

At a recent workshop in the lower school of a Friends school, Quaker and non-Quaker parents expressed intense disappointment. They said that they came to a Friends school because they were seeking an atmosphere permeated with Quaker values. Although they found that assumption fulfilled in some ways—the relationship with teachers and the way crises were handled stood out as special—they found the same greed and need they would have expected in any other school for the wealthy. Clearly, we don't have the answers as a community when facing the question of consumerism and children.

Elise Boulding says that Friends have a "fictive social reality of family life to match our Quaker teachings" (Families as Centers of Peace and Love, Friends Face the World, Kenworthy, 1987) when in denial about violence in our own families. I suggest that we are on a similar path in relation to the consumerism in our Friends schools and homes. There is substantial risk in taking a stand and alienating those parents who do not agree. That risk is worth taking. Many parents of young children are searching for a healthy environment, one that strives to give an alternative to the consumption-driven popular culture. If they cannot look to a faith community that espouses Simplicity as one of it's major tenets, where can they look?

Friends, it is not necessary to wait until we "get it right." It isn't the answers we need to share. It is in sharing the questions within our meetings, with Yearly and Junior Yearly Meeting, within our schools and with concerned adults in other faith communities and the general public that we can bring the opening for the Spirit that is essential. Parents and others who are caring for young children are crying out for connections that will help to stem the tide of consumerism and violence in their children's lives. Can we share what we have to offer: the questions and the experience of listening to the guidance of the Spirit?

"To the false standards of our time, we would offer the greatest opposition, combined with the greatest love. To the lonely seekers in this hurried and soul-hiding world, we would say: 'Dear Friends, we are walking beside you . . . seekers, too.'" (Faith and Practice, 1998, page 76, quoting the 1955 Epistle of NYYM.)

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Musings on Simplicity

Cheshire Frager, Flushing Meeting

Simplicity is a social testimony, as well as a matter of private spiritual discipline. It encompasses much of our individual and corporate lives, our decisions about how to live them and how to interact with the natural and social environment around us. And it encompasses the choices our societies make, choices that include their social and political policy, of all the institutions and entities that comprise society. And because—in the age of global communications, global economy, and pretty much global everything else—that everything is inter-connected, and -dependent, the choices are not always obvious or … simple.

For example, U.S. medicine is notorious for being ultratechnological and thus, wildly expensive. Some argue that this means that adequate resources are deflected from the many to the few richest. The efficacy of some technology is suspect, but certainly not of all. If it is your loved one whose life may be saved, what is the moral balance? Is there an issue of simplicity there? Or not?

In general, technology can simplify life but can also involve wasteful use of resources, so—in general—how does one find the balance? And how old does technology have to be before it becomes accepted? Have you noticed how folks who wouldn't challenge a home with both a radio and some kind of record player, plus a washing machine, fridge, phone, and modest TV, do challenge VCR/DVD players, microwave ovens, MP3s, even clothes driers, etc., all of which are rather newer?

One possible guide to balance may be that of the personal good vs. the greater good. Not personal selfishness vs. the great good, which is a no-brainer, but the choice between legitimate benefits, though even that can be difficult to define.

I don't have a car and, as much as possible, use public transportation. Believe me, on a superficial level, it does not simplify things. And I am often dependent on the kindness of Friends to give me lifts to and from committee meetings, etc. Which raises some issues: If I am getting auto rides, am I really free from the use of cars? And if I am dependent on others, am I asking them to facilitate my choice? But if we are a community, is that actually okay (however it violates the mainstream U.S. value of independence, rugged individualism, autonomy)? Should we all be facilitating—helping—each other's choices as led and as way opens?

Or am I conflating simplicity (in the superficial sense) with convenience? It is not so much that it is "not simple" taking public transportation, but that it is not convenient, not necessarily easy? What could be easier than flicking a switch to light a room? But simple? Not when one looks at the electrical grid, and the power plants, the resources required to build and run them, the pollution they produce. This is an old problem in discussing these issues—the tendency to stop the analysis at the metaphoric wall socket. Ease and convenience may seem to free me up to concentrate on, say, prayer and meditation, but what is the source of the ease and convenience? If it is the devastation of the environment, am I honoring G-d and the Creation? Having slaves left plenty of time for pious southern ladies to pray and read the Bible. Was G-d pleased?

If what one thinks is "simple living" requires one to exploit others (or at least benefit from someone else's doing so), wreck Creation, and tolerate or perpetuate violence, I would suggest that one's notion of "simple living" fails every test. Moreover, pretending it doesn't requires a complete failure of spiritual and intellectual integrity. Think of Woolman's incredibly rich and simple advice to look to our possessions that they do not contain within them the seeds of war. This speaks most obviously to our peace testimony and our testimony of simplicity. Implying as it does not seeking to benefit (in possessions, etc.) through the exploitation of others, at the price of others' needs, raising ourselves above others in the kind and number of our possessions, it speaks also to our testimony of equality. And maintaining such a lifestyle as both a spiritual discipline and an outward manifestation of an inward condition reflects integrity, which can be understood as keeping to Truth, to G-d's way for us, in all our actions as well as speech.

In my experience, the deeper one's study of the testimonies goes, the more one realizes that they are not separate items on a list but aspects of one profound whole. Eventually it becomes more and more difficult to ascertain at which particular facet of the jewel in the lotus one is gazing. They are all ways of expressing justice and wholeness, of living out the reality and experience of Divine Love.

One may make choices based on one's own spiritual development (what's good for us); others are guided by the broader effects of our choices (social good). Is one of those motives better than the other? Do they interact? Or are they, in fact, two sides of the same coin? After all, learning to care about others is good for the soul. Isn't simplicity about not letting our accumulations of stuff, commitments, desires, etc., crowd out the Spirit, block the Light, wall off G-d . . . from our lives and from others'?

So am I suggesting we all live "off the grid," cutting wood for the stove in our cabin, next to which sits our spinning wheel? No, but it does raise another question: What is the difference between simplicity and denial? And is the latter a violation of moderation, a kind of maintaining the plain bonnet even after it became rather an affectation, rather a display, and damned expensive? Or can it be a valid path for some, as many religions say? We can't judge what constitutes affectation—or pridefulness—for others, so what about for ourselves? And am I required to choose self-denial (not just giving up self-indulgence, mind you) for the benefit of others?

What is the relationship between moderation (a Buddhist virtue that speaks deeply to me) and simplicity? Might it be useful for Friends to explore that more profoundly?

Speaking of moderation, here is a quandary for many Friends: How many is too many books? Does building up a large library violate simplicity? Sociologically, many modern Friends are voracious readers and book accumulators—oops, collectors. Remember the sign over the book table at the Silver Bay Inn: "Books are the only permissible temptation"? What about other kinds of collecting, which many Friends do—does collecting art, or musical recordings, or antiques (even Quaker memorabilia) violate simplicity? Obviously, a pursuit's power and "location" in relation to the center of your life is part of the answer here, but are some things, on the face of it, non-simple? I know a Quaker who is devoted to the theater. She has a $1,000 balance on her credit card from charging tickets to productions (and she's not rich). But the theater is an ancient art form, founded as a form of worship, and as deep a source of meaning in her life as Friends' worship. Is this a situation to which our testimony of simplicity has something to say? Or not?

And then of course, there is the bane of the busy Friend's life: that very busyness. Time, schedules, calendars—how do we maintain a calm, centered simplicity in our life with all the demands on our presence, attention, and energy? Can we be so harried in serving G-d that we forget to be present to our Creator—and forget that Presence in our lives?

Simplicity is complicated!

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Simplicity: Worship, Justice, Community

Joanna Hoyt, Syracuse Meeting

In relationship with myself, simplicity manifests as integrity, the willingness to choose wholeheartedly instead of compartmentalizing my life and my self. When I am not willing to integrate my daily life with my beliefs, my work with my worship, I am caught in self-contradiction, guilt, and resentment, and I cannot be fully present to my neighbors or to the Spirit. When I am frantically attempting to fulfill all my wishes or potentialities, I exhaust and dissipate myself and I am not available for the work and the joy to which God calls me.

In relationship with my neighbors, simplicity manifests as solidarity, justice, or compassion—the things that make for unity. I must recognize my neighbors as members of the Body of which I am also a part. I must not consider myself separate from or superior to them on account of any ability, privilege, conviction, or accomplishment of my own. I must not live in a way that requires them to do or to suffer things that I would not be willing to do or suffer myself.

In relationship with God, simplicity is part of faithfulness, the willingness to lay aside all possessions, projects, and ideas that hinder or distract me from listening to the still small voice and acting on its promptings. I must remember that apart from the Spirit I cannot bring truth or peace or justice to my neighbors or myself, nor can I form meaningful connections with anyone. I know this to be true. I have experienced the emptiness of my own striving for connection and for change, and also the Life arising within and around me when I let go my own agendas and wait upon God. Still I am constantly tempted to seek security in something other than God.

As an adolescent I began to study economics, and I realized that in buying clothing, food, and gasoline I was requiring other people to work in conditions I would not accept and supporting war and ecological damage. This realization made me extremely uncomfortable. It disturbed me when I tried to pray and when I tried to plan my life. I had envisioned myself doing various jobs working toward peace, sustainability, and unity in the Spirit, but I was not easy with the idea of doing this work while living in a way that undermined all these goals. As I wrestled with this concern I left the church I had worshipped in and found the Quakers. In gathered silence and in times of discussion and discernment I found a clear leading arising: to work with my hands to provide basic necessities for myself and my neighbors, and to live an alternative to the prevailing economic system. My family and I were led to full-time volunteer work at St. Francis Farm, growing food to share, being present to a wide variety of neighbors and guests and helping them as we are able, living by gifts and by our own labor. I knew that this was what I needed to do in order to come into unity with myself, my neighbors, and the Spirit. I was also apprehensive for several reasons. I was nervous about not having financial security, partly for fear of hardship and partly for fear of being considered irresponsible. I was comfortable with words and ideas, and felt that I used them adeptly; I was much less sure about my ability to actually live them out. When I accepted the call, I thought I had finally chosen faithfulness and let go of fear. I found many challenges. I also found a way open for me to grow toward truth and wholeness.

Five years into this leading, I am still struggling with simplicity. We still use may things (gasoline tops my list) that do harm to other people and to the planet. And I am tempted to use the work of this place in ways that are subtly harmful. I can let go of possessions and privileges in order to live simply and faithfully or in order to bolster my ego. I can work hard because the Life moves me to, or because I am distressed by the brokenness around and within me and cannot bear to look at it without doing something right away. I can attend to the needs of others out of a Centered love for them, or a desire to gain their approval, or a frantic attempt to distract myself from my own neediness and shortcomings.

When I stop trying to amass stuff or approval or accomplishments to make myself feel safe and worthy, I am left alone with the truth—with God. This is painful, and joyful, and freeing. My eyes are opened, and I see the pain and the brokenness around me and within me, and I also see the Life springing up, bringing growth and healing. My energy is released from propping up my ego and my illusions, and I can listen and watch for the work that is given to me and do it wholeheartedly. This freedom, this wholeheartedness, this unity, is the goal of simplicity for me. It is also all that I know of the Beloved Community, the Kingdom of God.

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Simplicity

Mary Eagleson, Scarsdale Meeting

We Quakers uphold simplicity as a value, but, when we get down to it, we find that it's not easy to say what simplicity is. For me, the testimony of simplicity means finding ways to reduce my physical impact on the planet where I live, without retiring to a hermitage. Over the years, I have made conscious choices to become involved with other people in ways that increase my consumption of energy and natural resources, but also bring me and those others joy and satisfaction. With the parameters of my life now pretty well fixed by commitments to family, Friends, and my community, I seek to live within them as mindfully as I can of energy and resources.

My parents came of age in the Depression and, throughout my childhood, lived very frugally. The attitudes and habits I learned from them make a "simple" lifestyle easy and comfortable for me, though I'm well aware that it does not appeal to very many. For example, I love gardening and I like to can and freeze the produce. Thus, eating locally, which greatly reduces the amount of fuel used to bring food to my table, is something I enjoy. On the other hand, enjoyable or not, the work takes time. Is this the best way to use my time? Sometimes I wonder.

In grad school in the sixties, I was criticized for taking a space that a man might have had, because the critics were convinced that I'd just lead a traditional woman's life. I have made use of my education professionally, but not with the degree of intensity that most men would have. I was too concerned about the welfare of my children to commit to the scientific career for which I trained. Did I waste my education? It wasn't cheap, either in monetary terms or in terms of the resources it consumed.

Lacking answers, I turn to silence. My "simple" life must be grounded in a daily meditation and weekly meeting for worship, or it becomes overwhelming. If there is time for the other stuff, good; if not, I just say no. In the end, this is what works for me.

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Simplicity Never Goes Out of Style

Bob Schmitt, Twin Cities Friends Meeting, Saint Paul, MN
bob [at] laughingwatersstudio [dot] com

Simplicity is a discipline. Much like weeding a garden. To remove the things that may intrude or overpower that which is beneficial. To remove that which may be a threat to life.

Simplicity requires vigilance. The forces against simplicity are often quiet and subtle. Slowly creeping in and taking over like an invasive weed. Until one day, you wake up and wonder where the garden went.

Simplicity is not an event or a stage in one's practice. Rather it is a constant—a daily, hourly testing of what is right before me, right now. Is that a block, a stop that will keep me from listening to the voice of the Divine? Or is it an invitation for deeper listening?

It is a way of being. Being here. Now. The world may be going to hell in a handbasket. There may be more than enough good work to do, but still I am not excused from listening for Spirit's voice.

Simplicity is not simple. It is complex. It is not to be mistaken for labor saving or easy. What may have started as an effort toward simplicity may in fact become something working against that very effort. For example, I may find great expedience in the use of the Internet and e-mail. But I must ask myself how well led is all the time I spend sitting in front of a computer. How is that activity deepening my connection to the Divine?

Simplicity is relational. What is my relationship to clothes, to speech, to food, to cars, to money, to information, to fitness, to practical shoes? Does it unite me with God's creation or set me apart? Is eating an organic melon from Costa Rica in February simple living?

Simplicity is not just a giving up—clearing out of one's closet or bookshelf. It is an opening, a willingness to let God get in your way. To let Spirit be able to have room in your life to say, "We have a change of plans!"

Simplicity is structural. It is not only about what I have, what I do, but it goes down to the very bones of my life. What is the structure of my life—what brings me to the possibility of hearing Spirit's voice? What removes that possibility? This applies to the life of a Meeting as well as an individual. How much of the structure of our Meetings brings us closer to Spirit? How much of it just keeps us busy?

At any point of examination, I bring myself back to the life of Jesus, as a guiding light. "What would Jesus do?" though a piece of contemporary jargon, is helpful for me to reflect on. How do I see simplicity practiced in the life of Jesus? And where did that practice take him?

Simplicity releases us from that which drains and depletes us and redirects our energy toward God. NYYM Faith and Practice, 1998

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Live Simply

Donna Beckwith, Perry City Meeting

A friend gave me a gift once—a small, lavender filled pillow bearing the motto: Live simply so that others may simply live. That she recognized the aptness of this sentiment to my life was the gift. But I still have one more thing I don't want to release because of the love and connection it repre-sents. . . . How can my life be simple when I own all this stuff?

One of my oldest daughter's fondest childhood memories is of asking, on many a summer afternoon, "What's for dinner?" My response: "Let's go see what's ripe in the garden." Much of my adult life seems to have been a search for simplicity. Homebirthing, extended lactation, homeschooling, herbal studies all decreased our reliance on established authorities, our need for travel, for excess wardrobe, for stuff. But about 18 years ago, our greatest experiment was triggered by being a part of a grassroots movement intent on keeping the state from situating a low-level-nuclear-waste storage facility in our area. In standing up and saying "No nuke dump," I learned that much of the waste came from nuclear power plants. I realized I couldn't say No! in good conscience, when my oven, my water heater, my VCR were why we needed power plants. I needed to use as little as possible.

A disintegrating marriage and sale of joint property freed me to start over. I bought a piece of land. My children and I built a small cabin using only hand tools. For almost a decade we have lived with a hand pump and a wood stove. Summer cooking was made fun and easy when a friend gifted us with a solar oven. We've learned amazing tricks for living simply. We've learned just how much we can do without. We've often been dismayed to find that giving up one thing often means increased use of something else—no refrigerator means more trips to the grocery store.

I am part of my meeting's Peace and Social Action committee. We have developed a worksheet and a workshop that identifies our energy footprint. Even with my simple life, I use more resources than my fair share. We have found that when people see the results on their worksheets they are shocked, overwhelmed, sad and have no idea where to start decreasing consumption. We have begun warning participants beforehand, they will be shocked. Then we let them know they will be able to identify at least one simple change they can make. It has improved the outcomes of our workshops and resulted in less resource consumption. Because of our work, our committee members have begun "energy fasting." We have agreed to maintain awareness of our energy use, as we seek ways to substantially decrease that use, for one day each week. We check in with each other regularly, sharing insights and frustrations. We invite others to join us.

In my life, living without electricity means no background noise. In our former life, even when we were very quiet, the refrigerator droned, the water heater clicked on and off, lights hummed. With those noises gone, my body has relaxed in some inexplicable way. Since our cabin is small, we have lived outside much of the time. We have become aware of the moon in a way never possible before. We have become in tune with the monthly pattern of our neighborhood coyotes. We went from a lifestyle where we used way too much, where our overuse of resources threatened the planet, to a place of increased awareness of our impact and therefore of our responsibility as planetary stewards. Now we occasionally bump into that next place, the place where we move beyond being responsible to being in faith, where we assume our rightful place in the true community of the planet. I seek that place where I am simply in balance. I take what I need, share what I can, knowing it is enough, trusting the loving abundance of which I am a part.

Living without has freed us on many levels, but bound us on others. Our cabin is way too small. We are not always comfortable and so we can't be comfortable welcoming others. That simplicity that makes some homes so —homey—is missing in ours. I want that.

And now, my life is changing once again. The universe is forcing me into a new phase and I'll most likely end up in a tied-to-the-grid, tied-to-mainstream living situation, for at least a little while. The experiment continues. What lessons will I take with me? I know, someday, with more balance, I'll be ready to step into deeper simplicity, true community and be open for more lessons.

If you would like a copy of the Energy Footprint Worksheet and/or the Energy Fast Commitment please contact me at dmbeckwith [at] yahoo [dot] com.

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Simplicity in a Busy Life

Anne Pomeroy, New Paltz Meeting

As I think about simplicity in my life, it begins with my morning routine. My day starts with quiet. I choose to be the first one up. My partner, my two children, and the dog are all asleep. At 5:30 A.M., they will be up. Then I am called to smooth the rough edges of tired, groggy children. Before they rise, I listen to the birds, look at the pond, but most important, connect to the spirit through prayer, making that deep connection to love.

This practice allows me to listen. I listen to me, then as I sink into the silence, while sitting on the deck or sipping coffee inside, I listen to God. I offer myself up, as I am, and ask only to be guided by the spirit throughout the day. Many things rise up from the silence. The theme is always the same—love, a deep, reverent love.

Listening did not come easy to me. As one of five kids, defining myself became very important. Quiet meant not visible. It has taken me a lot of sitting time, to quiet the internal dialogues and listen to the guidance of the Spirit. Quiet, now means peace and unity with God.

Internal dialogues are internal clutter. The dialogues distract from the listening, the peace, and the love.

Today, when a problem is weighing on me, rather than engage in internal dialogues I ask for guidance from God. I turn over the worry, the hurt, the anger, the whole of my experience. My job is to create the space to listen. I ask myself to be open to the solution, that I may be guided by love. Faith allows me to get back gently to the simple place guided by love. The path is more familiar now; it is easier to get back.

Living out of the quiet takes energy. Offering love to those I meet may be an intense experience. Listening intently is an active process. My days can no longer be packed as full as they were. I must learn when to say no. My life is guided by love and faith.

Another aspect of simplicity is the simplicity of being present. One of my disciplines is being present where I am. This practice allows me listen to the leadings of the spirit in my life. My kids help me with this. For years, my kids woke up and sat in my lap for half an hour each. This was, and is still, lap time. During this time we can talk, but often we just are there together. It is a time of renewal for them; for me it is a time of focused loving. I do not read the paper, or focus on others, just be with them.

My day is framed by the simplicity of presence. This is being present to the spirit acting in my life. It is important to make it explicit, as it is what keeps me centered. Much of my simplicity is in how I see and respond to the world. It starts with the early-morning connection with God: prayer, offering my life in service to do what is called of me. This sounds serious, but much of my day is spent laughing.

Simplicity is a continuum. Our journey on the spectrum of simplicity is never done. It is important to take stock. Not from a negative place, but from an honest acknowledgment of where we are on the spectrum. I know people whose lives are more complex than mine and those whose lives are simpler than mine. Their lives offer me the opportunity to consider my life choices. It is important for me to look honestly and to listen.

All of us are somewhere on the continuum of simplicity. What is simple about my life? (In addition to my family, I work full-time.) My life is not so simple with the commitments and responsibilities to my family and job. I am looking at my choice of not being a vegetarian. I stopped being a vegetarian when I had anemia during a pregnancy. However, eating meat is not a choice consistent with my values. It creates dissonance in my spirit that calls to be resolved.

On good days I see what I have accomplished. On other days, I see what is undone. There will always be ways I can further simplify my life. As my life becomes more simple, I enjoy the freedom the simpler choices give me. Each step of my journey takes me further along the spectrum of simplicity. As I listen to God, I find that simplicity is called forth more and more. My guiding principles of faith and a respectful love for all creatures, keep asking me to look closely at my life choices.

Opportunities continue to occur to look at the degree of simplicity in my life. The call to live more simply can come in any form. I trust that my next leading will arise from the well of stillness I cultivate.

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Eco-Simplicity in the Big Apple

Janet Soderberg, Fifteenth Meeting

Is it possible in New York City to find a simpler way of life connected to nature? Can an "eco-simplicity" help one to stay spiritually centered and whole in a fragmented urban world? In this article I describe how an emphasis on simplicity and earthcare has made it possible for me to live in Manhattan.

To begin with, I'd like to share the thoughts of Keith Helmuth (of New Brunswick Monthly Meeting) for re-visioning simplicity "in light of and to give guidance for spirit-led action on behalf of all life on earth" (see Quaker Eco-Bulletin, July–August 2006, at quakerearthcare.org). He defines our testimony of simplicity in these terms: "a functional approach to the arrangements of life and work; non-acquisitive; frugal; unadorned; spiritually centered; attentive to direct experiences and relationships." When he applies this definition to earthcare, he translates all of these into action at the local and regional level: "direct decision-making on matters of local and regional concern; anchoring life in local and regional communities; production, use, and recycling of goods and services within local and regional economies."

Initially I thought that these goals would be achieved more easily in smaller communities that in megalithic Manhattan. To see what is possible here, I have taken his definition and considered how my life measures up to these standards on the local level.

• Functionality in life and work at the local level: I teach photography in a high school which sets my work within a local community (although the Upper East Side where I teach sometimes feels miles away from the midtown character of east Chelsea). My community here on 22nd Street where I live is tenuous and small and consists of an informal group of individuals concerned about the trees on the block. My most significant community is my meeting, 15th Street Monthly Meeting, which is a 20-minute walk from where I live. Another essential aspect of my quality of life in this neighborhood is the Union Square farmer's market, a 15-minute walk from home, where I buy fruit, vegetables, baked goods, and flowers in season. Here I also bring my frozen vegetable scraps to a stand of the Lower East Side Ecology Center for composting. This one action gives me enormous satisfaction—I am a Manhattanite who composts, whose vegetable wastes become food for worms that will convert it into food for plants! No garbage here: It is all useable.

• Nonacquisitive: This is a challenge amidst the nonstop gauntlet of stores with their seductive window displays on every street. It helps to be in my mid-fifties with the greater discipline that comes with age, but I must admit I still have a hard time holding back when the windows shout "end-of-season sale" or when Christmas rolls around and the shopping frenzy becomes extremely contagious.

• Frugal: I think all conservationists must have a frugal side, and in this time of peak oil and diminishing fossil fuels, frugality takes on added urgency. This urgency has led to changes in my energy habits. I now purchase a $10 wind energy certificate from Community Energy, a company upstate, thereby putting 400kWh of wind-generated energy into the electric grid. (Granted, it is more expensive; the $5–10 is extra each month, but it does mean that I'm being more frugal with fossil fuels.)

  My environmental Friends and I have also been selling compact fluorescent bulbs to members of our meeting, which will cut their energy bills and will, for the life of each bulb, save a quarter ton of coal and keep more carbon dioxide, mercury, and sulfur from coal-fired plants out of the air.

  Of course, much more needs to be done. "Some of us, no doubt, could benefit from a kind of 'eco-therapy,' modeled perhaps on 12-step programs, to help overcome our addiction to consumption," says theologian and writer Sally McFague (author of Life Abundant—Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril). Our local Friends in Unity with Nature committee may try to do just that.

• Unadorned: I dress simply, but am unwilling to give up my small adornments: bracelets from the Southwest, necklaces and scarves made by artists. These connect me to people and experiences far from Manhattan in places of great beauty.

• Spiritually centered: This brings me to the benefits of connecting spiritually to the place where I live. My brief morning meditation each day reminds me that I am living on an island and that there is beauty in every direction.

  Just northeast of my apartment, 10 minutes away, is Madison Square Park. Crossing 23rd Street with its sea of traffic and pedestrians, I enter the park a few times each week. Here in the park, I still hear the traffic, I still see the tall buildings, but the feeling is more "natural" and whole. From park benches I have studied city wild-life, pigeons and squirrels for the most part, but occasionally a beautiful bird like a migrant warbler or even a yellow-bellied sapsucker sipping from a maple tree. Just last weekend I visited Central Park, where fall migration, on an early Saturday morning brilliant with sunshine, gave me intimate glimpses of enchanting birds passing through on their great journeys south for the winter. I'm sure I bonded with the yellow and black hooded warbler that was feeding a few feet away from my husband and me. The drama of his tiny face peering up through the bushes was endearing and even heroic when one considers the thousands of flight miles still ahead of him. I give a little prayer now and then for these birds on their long journeys south, headed for destinations that hopefully will still afford them food and homes for the winter.

• Attentive to direct experiences and relationships: Experiences like the one with the hooded warbler keep me attentive to the human/earth relationship. They remind me that we—the warbler and I—are both of nature and that the Divine is both immanent and transcendent in all of Creation. Finally, this experience of relationship shows me how to stay connected to God—centered in love and appreciation, and practicing eco-simplicity in the heart of Manhattan. q

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Letting Go as a Spiritual Discipline
in the Context of Simplicity

Anji Crane, Dover Randolph Meeting

The beauty Friends have to offer—who we are, the Well or the Seed or the Light within us, that leads to how we live, often amazes me. A lifestyle of simplicity is one of those amazing offerings Friends make to the world. For me, simplicity is facilitated by a belief that I am called to choose life, and that all of this choosing is sacred. For if I am tending to that which gives the most life, the physical, emotional, spiritual and energy preferences of my being become clearer. And letting go of that which does not nurture becomes clearer also. In this process, I am able to move more fully into who I am created to be, and abundant life in simplicity.

Letting go as a spiritual discipline started for me as a single mother of three young boys, and the limited resources I possessed to meet the unlimited demands, or so it seemed, on my time and energy. My sister would ask "What gives you life? What gives you energy? When you walk into a room, what feels good? What depletes you? Learn your responses so you can choose to fill yourself, and parent from a place of fullness, instead of lack." My sister spoke to my desire to parent well, and so I started to pay attention to what gave me energy, and what drew energy away. Colors, clutter or lack thereof, interactions with others, cleanliness, entertainment, work, and modes of parenting all affected my energy levels.

First, it was about cleaning the exterior, letting go of unnecessary items that were neither beautiful nor purposeful, held on to for a counterfeit sense of abundance, one that could never satisfy me. Soon, I realized there were physical habits, and automatic emotional or spiritual responses to life that drained energy. Many of these automatic responses were meant to afford me a feeling of safety and security; it was hard to admit that it was a false security that stole life, rather than furthered it. I started to hold this feeling of energy depletion in the Light, asking Spirit to help me see and name my automatic responses, and then I chose whether to hang on to them or let them go and seek a more life-giving way. As I learn to be more aware, to mind the Light, to name and to choose, my life becomes more intentional and I am more drawn to the sacredness and gift of life, both my own and others, and I provide myself more time and energy to discern the Spirit and the One who speaks to my condition.

Lately, I have been looking at forgiveness within this context of letting go. What could I let go of in order to more fully forgive those who have wounded me? I don't want to disallow the reality of the wounding, or deny the pain, but is there something I can let go of that will help me to live in the truth, in forgiveness, in a more real way?

Sitting with this desire to move further into forgiveness, whilst fully accepting the reality of what is true in my past and my present, I have been meditating on Jesus and his relationship with Judas. Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, sharing the sacred space of meals and conversation, caring for those poor in spirit, poor in food, poor in health—all the while, I believe, with a good sense that one of those whom he counted as an intimate would betray him. Did he treat Judas differently than the others? Did he keep the betrayer outside of the band? Did he, consciously or unconsciously, label him as less than, not quite equal to those who would not betray? To answer these questions yes would be to deny Christ as I know him. To answer no is unfathomable for me. I have asked the Spirit of Christ, what was Jesus making known by accepting Judas? What did he model for me in this part of his life?

During this mediation, I realize I still have an automatic response of instant withdrawal and anger to betrayal. Three weeks ago, I sat in our dimly lit, 250-year-old meetinghouse and became aware that all summer I have been working on a query. The query that I was working on: Can I become comfortable with betrayal? There is a letting go in choosing to hear this query. I am hoping there will be an opening into life as this query calls me to change and to more letting go.

If you had a query of letting go, how would it be worded? What does letting go mean to you? And how do you choose life in the midst of your world?

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My Experiment with Addiction

Newton Garver, Buffalo Meeting

When George W. Bush said that America is addicted to foreign oil, and that we need to learn to use ethanol, I thought it sounded a bit like a drinker saying that he had become too dependent on Scotch whiskey and needed to learn to drink tequila. An addiction indeed, but misidentified. So I thought I would try a little experiment on myself to see whether I could get better insight into just what the addiction is that George W. was talking about. I used our car.

My wife and I had already made a move to saving on fuel by purchasing a hybrid, a 2005 Toyota Prius, and we had been averaging between 45 and 50 mpg. Not bad, and more or less in line with what we heard from other Prius owners. But my wife was going to be away with grandchildren, and with a chance to be the sole driver I decided to see whether I could do better.

I can think of only three ways to increase gas mileage, assuming that I am using the same car. One is to drive slower, since I have heard that the average car gets its best efficiency at speeds of about 45 mph. Another is to brake less, since braking in effect negates previous acceleration and thereby the gas used for the acceleration is thrown away. The third is to refrain from using the air conditioner. Since we were not into the dog days of summer either before or during my experiment, only the first two factors came into play.

For driving slower, I decided never to exceed the posted speed limit. True, that meant that at times I was driving faster that than the most efficient speed, but it did mean a considerable reduction in speed. Police generally give a cushion of 10 or 15 mph before they issue a ticket, and my wife and I have been in the habit of setting the cruise control on open roads about ten mph above the posted limit. Most other cars seem to do the same. So driving no faster than the posted limit meant slowing down a good deal.

I have to admit that it was scary at times. On the Thruway I never passed anyone and had the feeling that I was a tortoise in a race with hares. Once, as I went past an entrance ramp, an 18-wheeler zoomed past me on the right, already doing more than 70 even though he was not yet off the ramp. And of course SUVs regularly zoomed past on the left. It is much easier to go with the flow than to stick to the posted speed limit, no doubt about that.

At times I wondered if I might be provoking road rage. I did not actually see anyone raise a fist at me, but some cars that had to slow down and wait to pass did seem to be glad to be rid of me.

How to avoid braking? Of course, you cannot avoid braking altogether, but most of us brake more than necessary. My strategy during my experiment was always to anticipate stops and turns. So I took my foot off the accelerator, or switched off the cruise control, whenever a light turned red or I was approaching a stop or a turn. In such cases there were often more signs of rage, such as cars zipping around me so they could stand ahead of me at a light or a stop sign. Again I felt that my strategy was going against the grain of the American way of life. So it was both difficult and scary.

During the experiment I drove about 300 miles, mostly in small towns and on country roads but also some in the city and on the Thruway. I filled up the tank just before my wife returned and found that I got 60 miles to the gallon. Pretty good. An increase of 20% or 25% in fuel efficiency just by means of two simple driving strategies. And, no, I was not late for any meetings or appointments during the experiment.

So what? Well, three things occur to me.

First, my little experiment makes no difference so far as the problems of fuel shortage and global warming are concerned. It is true that it would make a difference if all drivers raised fuel efficiency by 20% or 25%, but I see no substantial chance that drivers will do even a quarter of that. The world's greatest consumer of transportation fuel is the U.S. government, and within the government the greatest consumer is the Air Force. I would love to see a 20% reduction in the use of fuel by the Air Force (beginning with Air Force One), and the President could achieve that with the stroke of a pen. But it won't happen. Nor can I imagine other public and commercial vehicles—such as police cars, ambulances, trucks—driving so as to maximize fuel efficiency. And states are unlikely to lower speed limits or enforce the currently posted speed limits. So my experiment is interesting but worthless.

Along the same line, I myself no longer adhere rigidly to the rules I followed during the experiment, though I maintain a slightly improved mileage of about 55 mpg.

As for the underlying addiction, it is to speed and power. I say that partly because of the difficulty I felt in adhering to the two strategies during my experiment: I too have the addiction. It is true that I curbed my lust for speed and power during the experiment, but any lush can tell you that one week on the wagon is no sign of a cure. In addition, I notice that friends who worry about the oil crisis and global warming rush to meetings; and even when confronted, they can rarely be bothered to slow down. The clincher is looking at what sells in the markets. True, hybrids now sell well for the automakers, but another Toyota hybrid is a pickup in which the new technology results in more power rather than fuel economy. In all aspects of life, power and speed make a killing. The appliances in our homes require twice the power of 30 years ago, and every month new computers have more speed and power. In sports and politics, too, of course.

So the underlying addiction seems to be to speed and power – the more the better, to be indulged at every opportunity. My experiment did not prove that conclusion, but thinking about it afterward made the conclusion inescapable. During the experiment, driving felt like swimming in a backwater, resisting the normal flow of the human tide. Asking what that tide could be led to the conclusion. We are addicted—me too—to speed and power, and that addiction has led to the petroleum crisis and global warming. Switching from gas to ethanol won't make a whit of difference. It is the underlying addiction that requires attention.

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State of the Meeting Report:
Looking Back Over 2006

Deborah Wood for CCM&C

Once again, it is time for the Coordinating Committee for Ministry and Counsel to ask you to consider the spiritual condition of your meeting. According to Faith and Practice, "the monthly meeting on ministry and counsel should appoint one or more of its members to prepare and present a report on the spiritual condition of the meeting. This should be reviewed in turn by ministry and counsel and by the meeting for business of the monthly meeting."

We invite you to look back over the year 2006, focusing on your meeting community. These queries may help you in your deliberations.