The more things seem out of control and complicated, the more the human senses seek solace from the shelter of simplicity. The saturated senses try to snuggle in the simplicity of the sun rising or setting. Or in the leaves of trees dancing to the breeze. They easily find ease in the sight of fragile branches of a mango tree carrying the weight of its green and yellow yield. Or in dead leaves approaching, kissing the ground as if saying: Embrace me now, O ancient Earth.” In a million ways or more, one nurturing power of nature is in its simplicity. And at the heart of every simple moment is what TS Eliot had marked out as the still point.
God knows better the hunger of the human senses with the Holy’s injunction to be still. Now and then, we hear the senses’ bidding to go back to the still point, the Sacred Heart, the center of the mandala, the dance area of the dancing dervishes, the chakra of the human body, the core of the interior castle, the inner room, the Holy of Holies, the sanctuary of the Stonehenge, the center of the labyrinth, or the heart of a Japanese garden. It is a sacred bidding to shed off the superficial, to deconstruct the seemingly endless human dint. Be still my senses when stuff gets complicated or contorted. The Great Presence, assuringly, waits at the simple, still point.