Lightly, Child, Lightly
It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig.
Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me.
When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic.
No rhetoric, no tremolos,
no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell.
And of course, no theology, no metaphysics.
Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.
So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,
trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair.
That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly, my darling,
on tiptoes and no luggage,
not even a sponge bag,
completely unencumbered.
— Aldous Huxley, Island
Oh, these are such serious times. So much hand-wringing, blame-throwing, fear and dour prediction. So much darkness and heaviness.
We need to lighten up.
I don’t mean lighten up as a way of spiritual bypass, and I doubt that’s what Huxley is suggesting. I mean let’s try to remember that we are not the center of the universe; time is much longer than our lifetimes; there is something much bigger and more mysterious at work here.
And the less we are carrying, the fewer ideals, ideologies, presumptions and preposterous perils and propositions we encumber ourselves with, the easier these times will be.
Lightly, child, lightly. On tiptoes.
This classic tale is an example of “lightly:”
An old farmer had a workhorse that ran off one night and didn’t come home. His village neighbors came to him saying, “Oh, such bad luck!”
He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Maybe.”
The next day, the horse returned with a beautiful mare in tow, and the neighbors came to him. “Oh, such good luck!”
“Maybe,” he replied.
The next day, his son was trying to ride the new horse, fell off and broke his leg. The neighbors came to him. “Oh, such bad luck.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged.
The next day, officials came and drafted all the able-bodied young men of the village for a war in a far off land…except for the farmer’s son.
“Maybe” is the First Principle. We don’t know reasons or the outcome. “Maybe” allows us to take things lightly.
But lightly doesn’t mean passive. You can do serious work, lightly. In fact, we have serious work to do…but we need to do it lightly. We need to let go of all our predictions and fears, let go of the outcomes (a Daoist principle), and just keep doing the work. Lightly.
I am reminded of the quote by Rabbi Rami Shapiro, a mash-up of the teachings of Micah and the Pirke Avot:
“Do not be overcome by the world’s grief. Do justly now. Love mercy now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but you are not free to abandon it either.”
We are not obligated to complete the work. Did you hear that? It’s never completed. That takes some of the heavy pressure off. We can only do our little part, what we can do NOW. In each moment. Lightly.
What is the work we have to keep doing now, lightly? Do justly now. Love mercy now. Walk humbly now.
That’s it.
Seriously. If we just keep doing that, without the heaviness of imminent apocalypse and doom over our heads, knowing that there is no way we will ever complete it, we can walk through the “quicksands…sucking at your feet” without getting sucked in. We can feel lightly and deeply. We can “lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
What do you need to release to go forward unencumbered, lightly?