Peace and Plenty and Epictetus

We used to vacation in a beautiful little house at the Outer Banks called "Peace and Plenty."  That house is no longer there, but we thought it was a wonderful name and in some ways we have adopted it for our own little house here in Highlands. 

I have thought about that phrase often.  We all know what peace is:  freedom from warfare and discord, tranquility of mind.  I demonstrated for "Peace" way back in the 1960s when this country was at war in Vietnam.  But what is plenty?  I wrote a poem in 2002 while I was staying in Peace and Plenty, after visiting the Elizabeth II, which is a ship anchored in Manteo modeled after the kind of vessel that brought our forefathers to Roanoke Island more than 400 years ago:

Is this a ship or a boat?  So squat and fragile.

Webbed, with rigging and furled sails,

Rocking gently at marsh's edge.

What madness to set out with such scarcity,

Barrels of watery beer - four quarts a day -

Dried cod and soggy biscuits,

And instruments so crude they scarcely worked,

Pegs in compass-boards, and astrolabes

That stole the sight.  Did they not know better?

Perhaps that is plenty:  not knowing better.

Satisfied with thin gruel, sweet and good

To an empty stomach.  No expectations.

Epictetus was a minimalist, who apparently lived by himself and had few possessions.  He would have made a good sailor 400 years ago, and he certainly would have been appalled at the rampant consumerism we see all around us these days.  He would have enjoyed Lent, I think, this season of self-reflection and self-denial that we Christians find ourselves in two weeks before Easter Sunday.  

“He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, 

but rejoices for those which he has.” 

- Epictetus

Today I am going to learn to want what I already have.  That's plenty for me.