Less Is More

Seeds IX, 30

Seed: Less is More
We’ve all heard this expression, I know, but approaching 50 as I am, it has come to mean a lot more to me lately than at other times in my life. Earlier, more is more made more sense to me. Now, not so much.

So, I did what any self-respecting writer does. I googled it. Here you go: Ludwig Mies van der Rohe was an architect who adopted the motto less is more to describe his aesthetic. Buckminster Fuller adopted a similar saying, doing more with less, but his concerns were oriented towards technology and engineering rather than aesthetics.

I’m with both men. For me, at this point in my life, less means simpler. Fewer things, fewer distractions, fewer (and clearer) priorities. I prefer life this way because I, like Bucky, am finding that I can do more with less.

The way I do this is to go deep rather than broad. There are plenty of things I still want to learn in this life. I’d rather single out one or two and go deep rather than ten or twelve and skim over the surface. I’m finding this holds true for everything in my life. Less is more because less in the field means I can truly focus on and love what’s left.

Be serene,

Dr. Susan Corso

Seeds are remarkable gifts. Sown in consciousness, they bring you to the most important part of your being—your Divine Spark.

When you have friends you would like added to the Seeds e-mail list, send their addresses to me at SeedsDrCorso@comcast.net and please visit my blog posts Ode Magazine.

Just Like Me

Would you like a simple spiritual practice that will guarantee you more peace with the people around you?

It will work for the ones you know and the ones you don’t know.

It will work for the ones you knew and the ones you will know.

When you hear a sentence out of your mouth that begins something like, “He is so . . . .” I’ll let you fill in the blank. Or “She really makes me . . . .” Criticisms. Angers. Frustrations. Hurts. Sadnesses. Disappointments.


Take Osama bin Laden.

“Osama bin Laden is hateful.”

Just revise your sentence with three words. Begin it with:

“Just like me, Osama bin Laden is hateful.”

I don’t know about you but that brings me to a full inner stop. Relationships are mirrors. Direct mirrors, not fun house mirrors. If I can see it in Osama bin Laden, then it’s somewhere in me. That sounds harsh, I know, but that’s how the law of relationship works.

Peace will grow in you very quickly if every time in the next 21 days you rewrite your criticisms of others. Try “Just like me,” and be forewarned. Transformation will knock down your door.

Magic is Afoot

{NO SPOILERS HERE!}

I happen to know two people who celebrated birthdays this weekend and I'm so glad both were born, but the real gift was Saturday’s arrival of the latest and last book in the Harry Potter series. I’d ordered it months ago. Months. As I’d had some less-than-totally-satisfactory delivery experiences with earlier volumes, I was Girl Scout prepared for this one.

Imagine my delight when all my visualized scenarios evaporated as I heard the book thud onto our marble front steps at 6:44 AM! I was so pleased that I was actually able to discipline myself to stay on my own writing schedule before I even opened the package. Just knowing it was here was enough.

Around 8:54 AM I opened Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling and just let it sit on my desk in silence, glowing. Perhaps I was the one glowing, but it could have been the orangey Mary GrandPré cover too. I kept whispering to myself, “It’s here. It’s here!”

Finally, I couldn’t stand it, and I fell into the meticulously-crafted world of wizards and witches and the ultimate battle of good and evil, and I was completely quiet. My whole house was silent. I ate up the words till 3 PM when my eyes gave out and I had to take a nap. I was about 400 pages in. A little over half-way.

Up again, eyes rested, I carried on. Reading ever faster. I moved chairs from time to time so I wouldn’t get stiff. I read in the kitchen, in my office, in the living room, on the porch. I knew I had to finish it before I could go to sleep.

I got emails from friends. They were jealous that my copy had come so early. One was already done and wanted to talk about it. Another wanted to talk after we both finished it. This was a much anticipated book.

The further and further I went into Harry’s world, the quieter I became, and the quieter my house became. Reading is, for me, a silent pleasure. The peace that silence brings with it “enables me to experience and absorb it all more intensely.” (I’m quoting Tijn Touber in the June issue of Ode Magazine, where I’m part of the team of Readers Bloggers, from an article he wrote on his experience of a silent retreat.)

It was 10:07 PM when I finished the book. I sat under a Victorian stained glass lamp on my sofa in the living room and clasped the book to my chest. Silent. Pleasure. Oh yes. J. K. Rowling fulfills every storyline and then some in this final volume. Well worth the wait. I’ll start it again in the morning and read more slowly next time.

I couldn’t call my friend to talk it through though, not last night. Instead, I had to hug the book to myself for a little while. In the silence. With the pleasure. As we say in my neck of the woods,

Mazel Tov, J. K. Rowling!

Thank you and bless you for writing Harry Potter.

One other thought. It did not escape me that as millions of Americans were sitting down with a book about the battle between good and evil that we had a different president than our usual one. Mr. Bush was having minor surgery so for 2 ½ hours Mr. Cheney was president. Thank God, magic was afoot.