Many of us over a certain age remember where we were and what we were doing the day President Kennedy was assassinated. I likewise am of an age to remember that tragedy, but I also remember where I was at a much more positive event.
I first heard the old Shaker song, Simple Gifts, at a wedding that I attended on June 21, 1981 in Durham, North Carolina. On this date, the first day of the summer, a mature couple with whom I am friends renewed their marriage vows.
Here are the verses:
'Tis a gift to be simple; 'tis a gift to be free; 'Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be. And when we find ourselves in the place just right, Twill be in the valley of love and delight.When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed; To turn, turn will be our delight, Till by turning, turning, we come 'round right.
The day of that wedding was an exceptionally beautiful summer day. I remember so well the brilliant, blue sky and balmy air fragrant with the scent of rose and iris. The wedding was held outside in the couple's back yard, and was filled with so many good friends.
The day in itself was memorable for me, as I do not recall being in the presence of so many close friends ever again. Yet, that duet with those simple, beautiful words stands out for me as dramatically as purple clouds on the horizon at sunset.
Since that time, it seems that many life lessons have concerned learning--perhaps the correct word here is "re-learning"--the art and science of Simplicity. After all, as a small child I certainly lived simply and as freely as parental safeguards would permit. Like all children I did not burden myself with the trappings of society and the expectations of others. No, that comes a little later.
As a young child (under perhaps six or seven years), I climbed trees, splashed through puddles, and sometimes rolled in the mud for the pure, simple enjoyment of it. Rather like a hawk or deer or bear or flower, I did not burden myself (read worry) with such baggage as climbing corporate or academic ladders.
For that brief period of time, I did not worry whether people liked me or what was right or wrong; I was a priest unto myself; my dog was as much of a therapist as I needed. As much as I can remember, I more or less just lived, and eventually and inevitably (and necessarily, I suppose) learned to judge people as good or bad and value some objects and concepts over others.
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