Magic Soul Medicine

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I was flossing my teeth, flinging tiny white blobs onto the mirror, and there it was. “Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence…”

It had been ages since I’d seen, heard or read “Desiderata,” but here my daughter and I were in New York City, amid the noisiest noise and hastiest haste, and those wise, gentle words were prominent bathroom decor in the cozy Upper West Side apartment that was our home base. The framed prayer/ proverb was printed in the same large antique-ish typeface that I recall from whenever it was that I had a copy—college, most likely. “…Be gentle with yourself,” it continued. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should…Be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul…With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world….”

That pretty much covers it, I thought. It’s like a K-Tel album—greatest hits from the Bible, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita mixed with ambient New Age optimism, a little John Lennon, some Rumi and a dash of sappy country music, all in one. I love how it ends on such an understated amen: “Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” What more can you ask for? I flossed, rinsed and spit, and read and re-read the words—savoring the economy of dental hygiene and spiritual clarity in one compact moment, in one very compact bathroom.

Each morning before hitting the museums and the shops, I’d stand in front of the bathroom mirror, freshly flossed with concealer and mascara in hand, and my eyes would be drawn to the words. Over the next few days, as we elbowed our way onto trains and immersed ourselves in the glorious turbulence of urban life, “go placidly” was my mantra. New York for me is the epitome of overdrive, so much to do, so much to see, so many accomplished, high-octane people high-heeling it past us in the swift current of Fifth Avenue. My 13-year-old was in her element—shopping nirvana—and I, too, was energized, but also a bit deflated, feeling myself shrinking beside the big city big-timers surrounding me, a small town gal with a small time resume, confused by the subway map. And again, the text of “Desiderata” (Latin for “desired things”) offered solace: “If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.”