{"id":27891,"date":"2025-01-24T09:49:29","date_gmt":"2025-01-24T14:49:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=27891"},"modified":"2025-01-24T09:49:35","modified_gmt":"2025-01-24T14:49:35","slug":"in-proportion-to-the-capacity-for-delight","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2025\/01\/in-proportion-to-the-capacity-for-delight\/","title":{"rendered":"In Proportion to the Capacity for Delight"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n

[Image: “Sometimes, Things Just Jump Out,” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page<\/a> at <\/em>RAMH.)]<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

From whiskey river’s commonplace book<\/a><\/em>:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

How Much Happens in a Day<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the course of a day we shall meet one another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But, in one day, things spring to life—
they sell grapes in the street,
tomatoes change their skin,
the young girl you wanted
never came back to the office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They changed the postman suddenly.
The letters now are not the same.
A few golden leaves and it’s different;
this tree is now well off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who would have said that the earth
with its ancient skin would change so much?
It has more volcanoes than yesterday,
the sky has brand-new clouds,
the rivers are flowing differently.
Besides, so much has come into being!
I have inaugurated hundreds
of highways and buildings,
delicate, clean bridges
like ships or violins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so, when I greet you
and kiss your flowering mouth,
our kisses are other kisses,
our mouths are other mouths.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy, my love, joy in all things,
in what falls and what flourishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy in today and yesterday,
the day before and tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy in bread and stone,
joy in fire and rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In what changes, is born, grows,
consumes itself, and becomes a kiss again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy in the air we have,
and in what we have of earth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When our life dries up,
only the roots remain to us,
and the wind is cold like hate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then let us change our skin,
our nails, our blood, our gazing;
and you kiss me and I go out
to sell light on the roads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy in the night and the day,
and the four stations of the soul.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Pablo Neruda, translated by Alastair Reid [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and (ibid<\/em>.):<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Whether success or failure: the truth of a life really has little to do with its quality. The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight. The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Julia Cameron [source: see note, below<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and (ibid<\/em>.):<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Zero Hour<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was the hour of simply nothing,
not a single desire in my western heart,
no ancient system
of breathing and postures,
no big idea justifying what I felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was even an absence of despair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Anything goes,” I said to myself.
All the clocks were high. Above them,
hundreds of stars flickering if, if, if<\/em>.
Everywhere in the universe, it seemed,
some next thing was gathering itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I started to feel something,
but it was nothing more than a moment
passing into another, or was it less
eloquent than that, purely muscular,
some meaningless twitch?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’d let someone else make it rhyme.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Stephen Dunn [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Even now, with the natural world in so much trouble—even now, with the patterns of my daily life changing in ways I don\u2019t always welcome or understand—radiant things are bursting forth in the darkest places, in the smallest nooks and deepest cracks of the hidden world. I mean to keep looking every single day until I find them.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Margaret Renkl [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

As he hurries along, considering his options, a sparrow darts boldly towards spilled grain. Bao smiles at its bravery. Most people only notice eye-catching birds like eagles and swans that have auspicious meanings, or geese, mandarin ducks, and doves that signify fidelity.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Yangsze Choo [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Noticing<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Often a crumb on my plate at the last
looks at me. On my tongue like a snowflake
it melts for awhile—and splendor discovers
itself in this world out of such quiet things.
Those times, anything breathed on or thought
about, even for an instant, is bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the corner just below the streetlight
there\u2019s a branch twisted by the wind. Surrounded
by darkness, hardly surviving, that branch
waits to wave in its yellow cone
when anyone passes and looks up. For years
it lives by such notice, eyes and sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strange—things neglected begin to appeal
to a part inside us. It is called the soul.
These times, it lives on less and less.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(William Stafford [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

____________<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A note on the Julia Cameron quote:<\/strong> This seems to be one of those quotes which get passed around from one source to another — its first and likely anonymous sharing online having just slightly missed the actual source. Except for a very slight change to the opening words, the passage pretty obviously comes from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity<\/em>. You’ll find the relevant passage here at the Internet Archive<\/a>, about halfway down the page. There, you’ll see that Cameron goes on to discuss the writings of May Sarton on the same topic, and indeed quotes from Sarton’s A Journal of Solitude<\/em>. But there’s no evidence — none that I can find, anyhow — that Sarton rather than Cameron actually wrote this passage (despite the many misattributions). Score one, I guess, for pedantry! *laughing*<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

[back<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Sometimes, Things Just Jump Out,” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page at RAMH.)] From whiskey river’s commonplace book: How Much Happens in a Day In the course of a day we shall meet one another. But, in one day, things spring to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":27897,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":null,"activitypub_content_visibility":null,"activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"federate","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Pablo Neruda, Margaret Renkl, et al.: 'In Proportion to the Capacity for Delight'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[183,247,1028,1393,4878,251,3477,4159],"tags":[179,1345,1926,4703,6052,6053,6054,6055],"class_list":{"0":"post-27891","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-everyday-life","8":"category-ruminations","9":"category-paying-attention","10":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","11":"category-fiction","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-fantasy-06_writing","14":"category-essays","15":"tag-stephen-dunn","16":"tag-william-stafford","17":"tag-pablo-neruda","18":"tag-noticing","19":"tag-yangsze-choo","20":"tag-margaret-renkl","21":"tag-julia-cameron","22":"tag-alastair-reid","23":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/thingsjumpout_johnesimpson_med.jpeg?fit=1080%2C864&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-7fR","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27891","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=27891"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27891\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27919,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27891\/revisions\/27919"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/27897"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=27891"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=27891"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=27891"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}