Simplicity and the resurgence of silent living
On the magic of our surroundings: Peter Zumthor, Vāstu Shastra, and Barcelona apartments
“It’s funny really. Despite already living in a wonderful cabin that’s somewhat off grid, we still find ourselves craving more simplicity, more solitude, and a deeper connection to the natural world. There is something about being out here, surrounded by untouched wilderness, that makes you yearn for an even quieter, more secluded existence. It’s as if the more we simplify the more we seek.” ~ Cecilia Blomdahl*
October 6, 2024
Exploring the nature of silent living
Some may disagree and it would be painfully hard for them to live in such a way. I’m not drawn to live off-grid in the arctic wilderness, however this sense of yearning for unfiltered connection to the raw wild couldn’t be more true. We all have different proclivities. This one happens to be mine.
There was a time in my twenties when I lived for four years in a small cabin in the woods. I worked on a farm. We had running water, a cozy little kitchen with a small propane oven, and a wood burning stove for heat, but the shower was outside as was the outhouse. While small it felt completely spacious. What we lacked in terms of amenities or proximity to urban buzz was easily overshadowed by the fact that we were surrounded by a magical forest in the coastal mountains of Oregon. We could walk a short path and jump in the river. Wild apple trees, fir, columbine, huckleberry, vine maples, trillium, wild rose hips and elderberry were everywhere. It was a life that was encircled by valleys, mountains, beautiful gardens, and swathes of untouched wilderness.
Time was well spent either in solitude, with my partner, or with an intimate circle of friends. It supported a life that reminds me of a line in John O’Donohue’s poem To Learn From Animal Being, “...rest in the beauty of animal being, learn to lean low, leave our locked minds, and with freed senses feel the earth breathing with us.”
Farming, long walks, gatherings, music making, delicious dinners, active summer days, breathtaking springs, radiant autumns, and sleepy snow covered winters animated life along the Siuslaw. My mind and being saturated. It was the backdrop for some of the best years of my life. Ironically, I wouldn’t necessarily associate this kind of life with being more simple, more immersive perhaps. More like less stimulating or less fraught with comparison. There was much to tend to and that, as a result, was the lifestyle. Being connected to the natural world provided exposure to the most dynamic forms of complexity – ecology itself, food, forest, elemental beauty, and community.
Look at the space as energy, for that’s all it is
Over the years I’ve lived in all kinds of homes, some even more rustic and just as remote. Yet each one laid the foundation for what I can only describe as my barometer for peace, pleasure, and a silent kind of living. The through line for all the places was and continues to be proximity to nature. For me surroundings and good flow matter. If I was able to tune in and align myself with that ambient presence, I was happy. My home’s style, a zen-like stillness juxtaposed with a colorful eclecticism, also seemed to channel elements of this energy into form.
Today I’m happy to have a lovely home, with a glorious kitchen and inside bathrooms. I’m surrounded by a small garden in a city that feels more like a big town. The valley, as we call it here in Albuquerque, is wide, freckled with farmland, and close to the Rio Grande bosque. Compared to Barcelona, this neighborhood certainty feels more rural, but it’s all a matter of degree and approach.** This is the magic of design, architecture, and intent. It is absolutely possible, albeit challenging at times, to cultivate a deep sense of peace while connecting to nature within a city. Look at the space as energy, for that’s all it is.
The magic of our surroundings
I’m going to share something with you so you know what I mean.
Here I am, in front of a large west facing window. I can smell the roma tomatoes which are cooling in the kitchen ready to be skinned and simmered down into sauce. Filtering my view and the setting sun is a seven foot silver berry shrub. I love how its branches are a perfect hideout for birds and its waxy leaves never shed. It filters the intensity of the afternoon light. To my left I notice shadow and light dance across the desk. I can hear Fiona, my neighbor's dog, barking as she runs back and forth. I can see directly into their yard, a bramble of a garden with a pond hidden behind a wisteria vine. The angle of the light deepens. It’s close to 5 in the afternoon. A dozen birds flutter in and out of the giant mulberry. The temperature is pleasant, warm, though my feet remain cool on the tile. So what in this moment moved me? Everything.
Everything about the scene, the garden views, the forms, light, textures, the birds, the sounds and smells. I found it all rich, noticeable, and full – making a beautiful and pleasant atmosphere. According to the idiom, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ one may think that the whole experience was dependent on my point of view. But here’s the twist. If I removed the trees and the garden right outside my window, my feelings would not be the same. It’s a simple exercise. One I learned from Peter Zumthor’s book Atmospheres. This notion of reality is magical. And is in constant flow.
Home, in a sense, is energy that happens to be contained by walls. In Vastu Shastra,*** the house has a spirit or consciousness which is called Purusha. Think of it as the immaterial essence of a space. Renowned Swiss architect, Peter Zumthor, who I mentioned earlier and whose books I absolutely recommend says he loves it when a building manages to move him. For years he disregarded the impact a first impression could relay. He was taught not to trust it. But experience showed him time after time that this energy, essence, or atmosphere was undeniably real and could be felt. It’s the soul that we immediately sense in a place or space. One we are likely to feel immediately upon entering. We interact with space and objects, both outside and in. In many ways it can be cultivated, shaped, or restored and be that which we anchor ourselves to, for it’s linked to our emotional sensibilities.
Another way to look at it is the art of co-creation. The atmosphere of the residence and those who reside within, naturally, have an effect on the other. To think they don’t denies the reality of harmonic resonance, scattered dissonance or as Zumthor puts it, the strength and impact of our emotional sensibilities.
Commingling with life
I figure all of it is like nature anyway. There will be the mainstream – that rushing, raging river, full and fast, which sweeps a wide path and pulls everything in and down. There will be small discrete springs, tributaries, creeks that meander, disappear and reappear in the rubble and hollow which feed it. The more I age the more I’m interested in those wild undiscovered raw parts of the map.
This kind of simple and silent living is more of an approach, a mind set, a way. It’s noticing the way sunlight enters a room, the kind of conversation a window will have with what’s beyond it…and so on. As pleasant as it is fulfilling, it’s like falling in love with nature over and over again. I can allow the mind to wander, participate in stillness, entertain curiosity, and rediscover a depth of skill that is completely and utterly offline. I’ve come to cherish it.
I know for myself if I'm not able to sync up with the nuances and rhythms of nature, I admittedly get squirrely. Bristled even. The buy in order to save nature mentality pushes me to the edge. I can’t help but notice that this response perpetuates an unempirical distance. When you don’t know or haven't experienced something personally it’s easier to ignore. To befriend the uncharted or unknown begin by observation. Atmosphere expands from there. What moves you? If absent from your surroundings, would you experience the same kind of grace or delight?
Yours, Erin
Today in the Garden
Cooking down roma tomatoes from the garden. Sauce. Sauce. More sauce. I had two plants. One ended up dying off early. I’m always blown away by how prolific and benevolent the roma plant it. It’s by far one of my favorite varieties to grow.
Juicing pomegranates with a heavy steel press. We probably pressed, drank, and shared over 3 gallons of juice! Glorious!
Resources:
*Cecilia Blomdahl, “Makeover Plans for our NEW CABIN” September 22, 2024 YouTube.
**Super inspiring video from NEVER TOO SMALL. Location: Barcelona, Spain.
***I recommend both Bernd Roessler and Julia Dalalba as a jumping off to discover the science and art of Vastū