four in a line
a father walks by in the sun,
a train of three behind him
in height (descending) order--
each child's head looks a different direction.
the first, he looks straight ahead.
marching forward into the world
in all his small importance,
his voice raises to assert his presence to all who will listen.
the second, she looks all around.
the light flashes off her golden head
as she takes in the world--the sky and tree and birds;
her voice lifts at the end, questioning.
and the third... he is looking down.
dawdling and lagging behind at the end of the line,
he is fascinated by the meeting of his feet and the pavement.
his voice sings deep inside him, and on his face there is a smile.
b
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
holey jeans, our attachment to things, and small joys
last week i patched a pair of jeans that had a couple of two-euro-coin-sized holes in a not entirely appropriate spot... and as i sat there wrestling with the denim and trying to not stab myself with the needle, i got to thinking.
there were many reasons why i was patching those pants. for one, aside from the massive holes they had acquired of late, they were still in pretty good shape and holes did not seem like a good enough reason to retire them. they are easily the most comfortable pair of jeans i've owned in years, and probably the only ones that have actually fit me well. i like the softness of the worn denim that fits my shape; the worn in feeling where they settle onto just the right spot on my hips. but those small reasons aren't enough to warrant all that wrestling and stabbing... why was i so attached to these particular jeans?
the short answer is: lately i have seen no point in acquiring lots more of things like clothes, which are so easily forgotten in the bottom of a drawer or back of a closet. these jeans have a lot more wear in them, and and would rather risk tender fingertips than buy something new produced in a system that i don't support. it's getting harder and harder for me to justify the accumulation of things these days, and i am finding myself wanting simplicity more than anything else. a few pairs of good pants is more than enough for me, and i will patch them if i need to.
the long answer is: these pants are more than just pants to me. i wore those jeans almost every day for five months. i trekked all over the UK and europe in them. those holes were worn from the friction of many days of walking, exploring, getting lost, and getting found again. they have witnessed some of the roughest times for me, and some of the happiest too. they have stories associated with them. they have seen things and places i have wanted to see for so long. i have hugged many now-distant friends while wearing them. i have spilt untold random things on them, and washed them again and again and again. it was worth the patching, in my mind, to continue to wear those stories, that history, on my body every day.
the attachment to things is an interesting phenomenon in my mind. we humans get attached to all manner of "things," and they have various degrees of hold on us. for example, i am attached to things that i appreciate for their utility (like my laptop), to things that i cherish (my writing book and journal and photographs are a few), to things that i use every day (like my fridge), and to things that i would rather live without, but seem to live with anyway (like my cell phone). i am much more deeply attached to people (family, close friends, and erik), and places (the house where i grew up, my little kitchen here in the greens, scotland, tirol, the ocean and the mountains)... but things still follow me around. they become appendages that are often too cumbersome and geometric to meld with my being or otherwise be easily carried, and so instead they drag behind me. that dragging is a weight i often wish i could live without.
buddhism teaches that attachment is the source of suffering. attachment is a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of things. things, for all of their weight (physical, mental or emotional) and impacts (toxic chemicals or unbreakdownable plastics or memories), are illusory. they are impermanent in spite of all of their appearances of permanence. after all, i do touch them every day, they do persist in my perception from day to day. but i know deep down, in a sort of unexplainable and visceral way, that such permanence isn't what i think it is. things pass just like the days do, just like the clouds pass over my head, sand passes through my fingers, and people pass in and out of my life. impermanance is "good" in that it teaches us to cherish what we have in the moment. it is "bad" in that when we become too attached to things, we lose track of the truth: that this too shall come to pass, and that causes us pain, holds us back.
things also have other impacts, beyond how they imprint our individual lives. my classes lately have been making me ever-more conscious of my consumption habits, and more passionate about creating real change in the way people view "things." these things we buy in unfathomable quantities in america only lead us further astray. we are killing our planet, killing our future, killing our children, killing ourselves in our greed for more. all of this is a false and costly effort though, because it is misguided: we fill our lives with things instead of meaning. the things can never be the meaning that we seek. they can pretend to be, but then they will break, and once again we are left with nothing. they can't stand up to the heaviness of our desire for happiness and fulfillment. they never will be able to. we need to accept that, and throw all of that money and effort into things that can satisfy our hunger for meaning and belonging and joy: things like community and wilderness. these are things worth being attached to, worth fighting for, which are currently lost in the din of our automobiles and shopping cart wheels.
i try to practice "measured" attachment in my life. some things in life--my values, certain books, lots of people--are worth holding on to. some are necessary to hold on to--like food and what preserves it (though this can be done more carefully and mindfully, to minimize its impact). others--negative emotions, regret, and stuff (that superfluous junk that weighs us down)--is not worth the attachment.
except for those jeans apparently.
there were many reasons why i was patching those pants. for one, aside from the massive holes they had acquired of late, they were still in pretty good shape and holes did not seem like a good enough reason to retire them. they are easily the most comfortable pair of jeans i've owned in years, and probably the only ones that have actually fit me well. i like the softness of the worn denim that fits my shape; the worn in feeling where they settle onto just the right spot on my hips. but those small reasons aren't enough to warrant all that wrestling and stabbing... why was i so attached to these particular jeans?
the short answer is: lately i have seen no point in acquiring lots more of things like clothes, which are so easily forgotten in the bottom of a drawer or back of a closet. these jeans have a lot more wear in them, and and would rather risk tender fingertips than buy something new produced in a system that i don't support. it's getting harder and harder for me to justify the accumulation of things these days, and i am finding myself wanting simplicity more than anything else. a few pairs of good pants is more than enough for me, and i will patch them if i need to.
the long answer is: these pants are more than just pants to me. i wore those jeans almost every day for five months. i trekked all over the UK and europe in them. those holes were worn from the friction of many days of walking, exploring, getting lost, and getting found again. they have witnessed some of the roughest times for me, and some of the happiest too. they have stories associated with them. they have seen things and places i have wanted to see for so long. i have hugged many now-distant friends while wearing them. i have spilt untold random things on them, and washed them again and again and again. it was worth the patching, in my mind, to continue to wear those stories, that history, on my body every day.
the attachment to things is an interesting phenomenon in my mind. we humans get attached to all manner of "things," and they have various degrees of hold on us. for example, i am attached to things that i appreciate for their utility (like my laptop), to things that i cherish (my writing book and journal and photographs are a few), to things that i use every day (like my fridge), and to things that i would rather live without, but seem to live with anyway (like my cell phone). i am much more deeply attached to people (family, close friends, and erik), and places (the house where i grew up, my little kitchen here in the greens, scotland, tirol, the ocean and the mountains)... but things still follow me around. they become appendages that are often too cumbersome and geometric to meld with my being or otherwise be easily carried, and so instead they drag behind me. that dragging is a weight i often wish i could live without.
buddhism teaches that attachment is the source of suffering. attachment is a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of things. things, for all of their weight (physical, mental or emotional) and impacts (toxic chemicals or unbreakdownable plastics or memories), are illusory. they are impermanent in spite of all of their appearances of permanence. after all, i do touch them every day, they do persist in my perception from day to day. but i know deep down, in a sort of unexplainable and visceral way, that such permanence isn't what i think it is. things pass just like the days do, just like the clouds pass over my head, sand passes through my fingers, and people pass in and out of my life. impermanance is "good" in that it teaches us to cherish what we have in the moment. it is "bad" in that when we become too attached to things, we lose track of the truth: that this too shall come to pass, and that causes us pain, holds us back.
things also have other impacts, beyond how they imprint our individual lives. my classes lately have been making me ever-more conscious of my consumption habits, and more passionate about creating real change in the way people view "things." these things we buy in unfathomable quantities in america only lead us further astray. we are killing our planet, killing our future, killing our children, killing ourselves in our greed for more. all of this is a false and costly effort though, because it is misguided: we fill our lives with things instead of meaning. the things can never be the meaning that we seek. they can pretend to be, but then they will break, and once again we are left with nothing. they can't stand up to the heaviness of our desire for happiness and fulfillment. they never will be able to. we need to accept that, and throw all of that money and effort into things that can satisfy our hunger for meaning and belonging and joy: things like community and wilderness. these are things worth being attached to, worth fighting for, which are currently lost in the din of our automobiles and shopping cart wheels.
i try to practice "measured" attachment in my life. some things in life--my values, certain books, lots of people--are worth holding on to. some are necessary to hold on to--like food and what preserves it (though this can be done more carefully and mindfully, to minimize its impact). others--negative emotions, regret, and stuff (that superfluous junk that weighs us down)--is not worth the attachment.
except for those jeans apparently.
well, i did only say that i try to avoid attachment. that doesn't mean that i always succeed. :)
and on a slightly different (and perhaps ironic?) note...
some things that bring me a lot of joy lately:
-erik
-cuddles
-frisbee
-the stacks of books surrounding that i don't think i'll ever have the time to read
-coffee and fresh baked things for breakfast
-storm clouds
-raindrops rings on puddles
-poetry/love group
-riding bikes side by side
-thinking about the future
-muddy hands
-pictures
-clean kitchens
-walking down the middle of the road because i forget cars use them
b
-erik
-cuddles
-frisbee
-the stacks of books surrounding that i don't think i'll ever have the time to read
-coffee and fresh baked things for breakfast
-storm clouds
-raindrops rings on puddles
-poetry/love group
-riding bikes side by side
-thinking about the future
-muddy hands
-pictures
-clean kitchens
-walking down the middle of the road because i forget cars use them
b
Thursday, March 05, 2009
wearing hats
this is a remnant of my time in england, which of late has been flitting around the back of my mind. please comment on it... i'd love to hear what you have to say.
(thanks, ans, for encouraging me to post this)
wearing hats
some days i want that brim above my eyes. some days the horizon is too far away, the sky too large, for me to be okay with the scale of my own small body.
between the brim and the ground beneath my feet is a world that i know well, even if i don't always like it.
in this human realm, i usually know how to navigate. usually.
some days it is beautiful down here. sometimes people are exquisite. they reach out to each other, comfort each other; bring laughter and joy and sweetness to lives that can so easily become hum-drum.
i mark these moments in my mind, on my pages, to remind me when those times pass. because they do pass.
on those other days, i tear that hat off of my head, and breathe a long sigh of relief.
as safe as it may seem, it gets crowded under that brim. it gets noisy. it gets tense and heated and competitive. on those days i want the world to be bigger--to remind me that there is still something more. something larger than human fallibility and pettiness.
on those days i want to reach and reach and reach for that horizon.
the height of the mountains, the tangle of trees, the wide-opens of the world call out to me. i am lost looking up into that expanse of sky: my hat lies forgotten on the ground.
b
(thanks, ans, for encouraging me to post this)
wearing hats
some days i want that brim above my eyes. some days the horizon is too far away, the sky too large, for me to be okay with the scale of my own small body.
between the brim and the ground beneath my feet is a world that i know well, even if i don't always like it.
in this human realm, i usually know how to navigate. usually.
some days it is beautiful down here. sometimes people are exquisite. they reach out to each other, comfort each other; bring laughter and joy and sweetness to lives that can so easily become hum-drum.
i mark these moments in my mind, on my pages, to remind me when those times pass. because they do pass.
on those other days, i tear that hat off of my head, and breathe a long sigh of relief.
as safe as it may seem, it gets crowded under that brim. it gets noisy. it gets tense and heated and competitive. on those days i want the world to be bigger--to remind me that there is still something more. something larger than human fallibility and pettiness.
on those days i want to reach and reach and reach for that horizon.
the height of the mountains, the tangle of trees, the wide-opens of the world call out to me. i am lost looking up into that expanse of sky: my hat lies forgotten on the ground.
b
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