Over the past few months, our assumptions about what keeps our economy ticking have come under renewed scrutiny as the stock market, gas prices, and businesses and institutions -- large and small -- rise and fall with unprecedented volatility.

The words not so big really point toward an enormous rebalancing that's been needed for some time, but which was incomprehensible until now, when everything we've assumed to be permanent and certain has suddenly been called into question.

I've often said that not so big is really a sensibility.  The dictionary defines sensibility (in the way I am using it), as an awareness of and responsiveness toward something.  That something is now apparent, and I believe that at this juncture, we're ready to really look at it.

When I say that we need to focus on quality rather than quantity, what I really mean is that no size or quantity of any particular commodity can secure the meaningfulness that we seek.  This is true whether we are discussing houses, holiday presents, or life enriching workshops.  It is, in short, never about the quantities of space, wrapping paper, or time spent that's important.  It's about the qualities.

 
A smaller house that is beautiful and inspiring to be in will always satisfy us more than a bigger one that is ho-hum and impersonal.  A gift from the heart, even if it is presented without any wrapping paper at all, will always move us more deeply than an expensive gift selected to impress.  Time spent in presence with loved ones will always bring greater understanding and joy than any number of self-enrichment seminars.  When it comes right down to it, although money is a valuable tool in securing a happier life, spiritual wealth is of far greater value than any amount of material wealth.

 
The Western mind has taken material wealth to mean the most important part of living, and everything else to be in support of accomplishing that wealth.  We see people with less stuff than us and automatically assume they are not really living, merely surviving.  We deeply misunderstand. A child with one beloved toy is more in love with that one object than the child with hundreds of toys.  So in fact it is we who are merely surviving.  Real living is unrelated to the quantities of stuff we own.  Material wealth does not preclude real living, but it makes it more difficult because all those possessions appear to be so valuable.

So why is it that we're always hunting for what we know is missing by piling on more of what we already have plenty of?  Why do we want more room, more stuff, more time to focus on ourselves? 
 
 
The Caterpillar Pillar 

There's a wonderful children's story, called Hope for the Flowers, by Trina Paulus, that points out the futility of this endeavor, using a metaphor that says it all.  Two caterpillars go about the job of climbing a huge pillar of caterpillars -- a caterpillar pillar -- just like every other caterpillar in the vicinity.  The point is to get to the top, and though no one on the journey upward quite knows why they are doing this or what they will find at the top, no one questions the enterprise because that's what they've always been told is their life's purpose.  So up they go.

 
It is only when one of the caterpillars makes eye contact with another caterpillar that all this climbing up the pillar is called into question, resulting in the seeing through to the hollowness of the whole climbing enterprise.  It's not that the climbing is bad.  It's simply being done on automatic because no one has stopped to ask if this is what they really want, or if perhaps there isn't some other function to caterpillar-hood that is only visible when the climbing activities cease for a while.

 

The perfection of the metaphor for this time in our history may be apparent to you as you read this synopsis.  For many, the automatic assumption that the climb to the top is the point of existence is already being called into question.  They began to realize a while ago that the phrase "He who dies with the most toys wins" is just not true.  Like the child with too many toys, everything has become mundane, boring, empty.  Nothing feels sacred or alive.
 

So here's where the not so big sensibility comes into play.  When we make our priority the living and experiencing parts of life, rather than the consuming and accumulating parts, we find that we are satisfied in an entirely different way, a way that, I suspect, our ancestors knew about but which we have temporarily forgotten.  I often refer to this as a different kind of "moreness"-- more quality rather than quantity, but really more living rather than consuming. 

 
What would life be like if we no longer defined ourselves first and foremost as consumers, gauging our success as a nation on the increase in Gross National Product from month to month, and year to year?  Until very recently such a notion has been unthinkable.  "What's the alternative?" we ask.  I don't know the answer to that question, and yet I sense that the time has come to pool the knowing of our hearts in order to dream that new dream.

   
I wonder, "What will this new world look like?  How will it function?  What will we come to understand about our human-hood as we are forced by economic circumstances to take a break from our climb to the top?"  Perhaps like the two caterpillars in Hope for the Flowers, we'll discover that what we've been trying to acquire with all our climbing has in fact been much closer to us than we've ever imagined, patiently waiting for a moment when we collectively stop the mad scramble and simply pause to look at each other and meet in presence.  In that meeting, it doesn't matter how much money we make, what kind of car we drive, or what neighborhood we live in.  We simply meet, human to human, and recognize that that which we see in each other is the life force in all of us -- the awareness that we are aware, and that we are capable of receiving the gift of each other's presence in our lives.
 

There's a section in The Not So Big Life in which I describe what peace really is.  It's not what most of us think.

Peace is a state of mind and a state of being.  Only when you are at peace within yourself can you see what is actually here and that nothing about it is wrong.  Nothing is wrong. It simply appears to be wrong because of our confusion, our thoughts about how things should be.  That's a tall order for most people to grasp, but when you start to grasp it, you'll see that the only way to change the world is to change yourself.  You are it.
 
When we bemoan the state of the world, we're saying that the ocean surface shouldn't be choppy -- that there should be no whitecaps, no storms, that they are disturbing the peace, negating the possibility of heaven on earth.  We are rejecting what is happening, not understanding that heaven, or bliss, or whatever name you care to apply to that which is truly meaningful, lies beneath what we see, under the story line of our (everyday lives)...
 
There is absolutely no way to make what we are seeing perfectly still and tranquil, at least not unless we step out of duality.  Everything that we see is the embodiment of a constant process.   We are most familiar with this notion as it is stated in Newton's third law of motion:  For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.... Everything is, in fact, in a state of constant equilibrium.  It's only the waves that make it look otherwise - only the surface conditions.  What lies beneath is peace itself.
 
Could it be that the peace and meaningfulness we want so badly has never not been with us -- that we've only been seeing things from a perspective that's focused on the storms and waves of existence rather than the deep ocean of being that lies beneath?  Could it be that this is the new sensibility, the larger truth behind not so big?  Remember the definition of sensibility -- an awareness of and responsiveness toward something.  That something is this larger truth that real living happens in the experiencing of what's happening, and not in the contents of the story lines of our lives. 

 

The Gift
I've heard many people over the past few months say that we are in the midst of a major change in consciousness -- a change of state, if you will.  When a liquid changes state and becomes a gas or a solid, it happens quite rapidly, and the material that exists after the change of state has occurred looks and acts very differently than it did when it was a liquid.

We cannot as yet imagine what human nature will look or act like once it has gone through this predicted change of state, and yet, if we pay close attention, by simply showing up in each moment of our lives, we can catch glimpses of what is coming.  Perhaps, if you've been reading this closely, you've been here with me in this way.  We can all do this for each other, with each other.  This is the true gift of our humanity.  It's what this season is really all about, once we stop worrying about whether we've got enough money to appropriately lavish each other with goods and simply share our hearts with one another instead.

So I have a holiday giving suggestion for you that is decidedly not so big in sensibility and character.  Think about it and act on it if you are so moved over the coming few weeks, as we bring this tumultuous year to an end.  Take the opportunity to give the gift of your attention and your presence to those you take for granted, and those who are around you and in need, but whom you usually don't see.  Your attention will be an incredible gift.  But there's more, too.  Do they need something that you have and no longer need?  Can you recycle some of your existing collection of objects and bring joy to another in so doing?  A gift doesn't have to be new to be appreciated, and with all the accumulations of previous years, most of us have more than enough to part with just a few of these things.

 
In our small acts of giving, we may for just a moment or two see through the surface conditions of our world to what informs all of it, all of us.  This is what these holy days are really meant for.  This is the gift we can give to one another.