What the Little Flower Knows

To be small in this song is not to be diminished, but to be finally at the right scale, ready to receive.
— Morris Caplin
What the Little Flower Knows
Morris Caplin

Morris Caplin - What the Little Flower Knows: A Song, a Trail of Blooms, and the Right Scale of the Heart.

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On a Saturday afternoon, with a great surprise in Los Angeles, sharing a meal with some friends, the guitar popped out and Kay Clarity shared this beautiful song that really struck my heart.

There was no microphone, no stage, no set list, nothing, just bread, wine, cheese, and a few voices and a song that felt like it had been waiting in my heart the whole time. By the time the last chord faded, Nomody among the friends spoke for a moment, and that silence, I think, is the song.

Kay Clarity's song "The Little Flower" does not announce itself, and it simply opens the door and waits for everyone to enter. The whole song is built around a gesture older than any system of thought, simply an invitation to walk.

There is no exhortation, "no instruction for use", no proof text or moral efforts, but the simple suggestion to step past the hill and pass the bend and embrace the small things that are born and grow.

Kay Clarity describes herself as an ambassador for beauty. She has staked her artistic life on the pure convention that "beauty" does not need to shout to be true and be recognized. What the song therefore offers, instead of arguing, is that original hunger of beauty underneath the restlessness of the heart.

In fact, there is a restlessness that lives under every human person, even when they gather on a beautiful, sunny Southern California afternoon, sharing life together, a pull towards what is beautiful, what is true, what is just, and what might finally make us whole.

The simplicity of the song is nothing more elaborate than this: the awareness that we are made for something we did not make. The Little Flower song is simply that awareness, set to a beautiful melody. It does not name the longing, but it lets it breathe. And by naming the flowers instead of "the ache, it gives the ache somewhere tender to rest.

The refrain of this beautiful, simple song keeps returning to a single confession, that the flowers and we ourselves are small. The song meets the intuition that animated Sainte-Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower herself, whose "little way" insisted that holiness is not scaled to greatness but to simply "love."

Kay Clarity, formed in the classical tradition and a doctorate candidate in sacred text, knows very well that "lineage" well enough not to cite it, and she lets the smallness do the work. To be small in this song is actually not to be diminished, but it is to be finally at the right scale, ready to receive.

The next morning, on a Sunday hike with some friends, I caught myself, to my surprise, chanting it without even deciding to. I didn't have the verses in front of me, but I did not need them. The melody and three little words were enough, repeating under my breath as I was climbing towards the top of that small hike. To my amazement, the trail was bloomed out, genuinely bloomed, lwith flowers scattered along the trail as if they had been placed there on purpose for me. I Smiled. I thought, of course, that the song walked ahead of me.

We are all living in a time exhausted by doin g things and our performances, by feeds that demand reactions, by opinions that demand "positions", and by inner lives that demand productivity and accomplishment. We're surrounded by this noise, and Kay Clarity's song whispers that words are not even required, It suggests that "presence is enough" and that "beauty",, unargued, unmonetized, and longed for, can still coax a smile out of any tired face.

The lullaby cadence of this beautiful song runs a deeper current, which is the ache for a world in which we are allowed to be small and in which that smallness is greatness. Kay Clarity's gift is to let that ache breathe without resolving it into any already known slogan. The flowers are there. The hill is there. The bend s there. On a Saturday afternoon in Los Angeles, around a table of friends, all that remained was the walk, and the heart that, for a few minutes, remembered what I was longing for.

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The Lemon Trail That Taught Us How to Love Each Other"