In a civilized country everyone, without exception, would have a very high standard of living ... right? They could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, without the slightest anxiety, they would all live in very fine houses, they would all have plenty of the finest food at regular meals, plus snacks, and so on. Also, everyone would be extremely pleasant to everyone else, at all times.
Like imbeciles you use plastic cookware that you throw away - you say you are leaving it behind, or leaving it where you found it - when you move. You don't have any of the finer things in life, but you don't care about fine things! The cave man, from the golden era, labors to cook with stone and clay, and the ancient heritage is everlasting cast iron, copper, and fine enameled steel. Those are the finer things in life, and they don't cost a bundle at all ... but you have to care. If you don't, whine and complain all you like, you won't have the finer things in life.
The finer things in life are woolen blankets, and heavy woolen rugs that you take outside and beat clean in the Spring, things that are almost literally permanent - and eternal - and can be had almost for free, if you're really looking, and that are so deeply good. Bury your nose in them. Mmm.
In order to enjoy those kinds of things, you have to stay in one place, unless you are really, really good ... and even then, somehow. But then, fine things help you do that. Witness the materialistic philosophy! The material is real. Shun it at your own peril. But what you need to know is that there is fine matter and course matter, and sorting is the mechanism by which we collect fine matter and concentrate it, in a world of matter, which, as a general thing, is neutral. Then we can live.
Do not underestimate this. The lovely smell of clean blankets is life itself. I have stopped completely wearing synthetics. If you're not that sensitive, fine, but when you suffer, seemingly from things you can't change, like unfairness, the answer is lovely cotton, and ephemera like bangles that you can swing. The clack of your old cutting board, and the smell of hay it gives off, something that does not come out of it, but is rather its effect, so that it will never be expended, are your nourishment. A person who can live on the fragrance of hay will never want. My knife has a soft edge, and I handle it gingerly, but it is very sharp.
