Fallout April 8 2010
After moving house,
Like Dorothy who landed, dazed, in Munchkin Land,
I feel blown into a different world.
Nothing’s where I thought it was.
I pick up things, and can’t remember where I put them down
A second later.
The list of things we must find-- now! -- grows ever longer –
My circuits are on overload,
Thoughts splashing over in my brain as if it were a basin
When the tap has been let run too long.
I look forward to the day when I can feel settled once again,
Finding the golden road that will bring balance
In a new place, a new life, a new beginning,
Reflection:
Moving house is one measure of attachment vs. detachment. Ideally, I would, like a Buddhist monk, need only my saffron robe and begging bowl. I would be detached from the things of this world. I would not be spending time, energy, money, and attention fussing with where things are, how they should look or feel, and how to deal with them. The process of moving is an excellent gauge of how attached one still is to the things of this world. Storage and closet space become rare and priceless. I’ve just spent two months “downsizing,” resolutely clearing out and donating or throwing away half of the contents of every shelf, closet, drawer, and box in my house. In my new house, half the size of the old one, I see I need to do the same thing again – get rid of half of what’s left. Interestingly, it’s not a painful thought – just a hassle. But I learned, in the process of doing it the first time that I need the support of someone else’s energy and dispassionate eye to discard objects without remembering, for each one, the way I acquired it and what it has meant in my life. I know it’s only “stuff.” I remember from the days after Ellen died how utterly useless “stuff” is in the context of eternity, rather than earthly life. But I guess attachment to the “stuff” of this world is pretty hard to downsize – it’s not just the objects that have to go through that process. I am grateful for the opportunity to liberate many material items to become blessings in the lives of others.
Discovery, AI and the brain in the jar
-
July 29, 2023 In the sixth grade, lunch time was a critical hour for
survival. It was a time for escape, away from the bullies rounding up young
immigrants...
1 year ago
No comments:
Post a Comment