Coming to your senses

We can only experience the world through our senses, but if our senses are dulled then we are not really going to experience much of the world around us

It is not unfair to say that many of us live in a state of acute sensory deprivation. We might live like this until we die. Roman Krznaric, in his book The Wonderbox, describes this phenomenon as ‘a hidden form of poverty that pervades the Western World’. We generally fail to cultivate the full range of our sensory faculties, he suggests. We fail to nourish them and give them the attention they deserve.

Death is really important to contemplate if you want to live twice as long because without contemplation of death, and what you might miss from this world when you die, it’s a bit difficult to pin down why it’s worth living and how lucky you are to be alive, and how you should strive to be here and now when so many others are dead. Cue British poet Rupert Brooke, who contemplating death in his poem The Great Lover. In it he takes the time to reflect on what he loved during the time he was alive. I pick up the poem someway through, and end abruptly (he does go on a bit).

… These I have loved:

White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,

Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust;

Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust

Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;

Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;

And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;

And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,

Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;

Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon

Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss

Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is

Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen

Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;

The benison of hot water; furs to touch;

The good smell of old clothes; and other such

The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,

Hair’s fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers

About dead leaves and last year’s ferns…

There seems to be a theme in literature about the things you will miss when you die. Here’s another example, from Praxilla of Sicyon, the 5th century BC poet:

Loveliest of what I leave behind

Is the sunlight

And loveliest after that the shining stars

And the moon’s face

But also cucumbers that are ripe,

And pears and apples.

So, stop. Be aware of your body and its weight on this earth. Start tuning into things around you. Smell the air. Listen to sounds both close and in the distance. Notice the movements around you. As Lawrence Durrell wrote: ‘If you just get as still as a needle you’ll be there.’ Be as still as a needle and experience, and enjoy, because it will ultimately be gone. Think. What would you miss? Knowing what you’d miss when you die might persuade you to concentrate more on things that are important.

Image credit: Steve Bittinger/flickr