I’m going to do something I never do and present an idea that I can’t fully verify. So basically, don’t quote me, and hopefully this post gets you thinking, which is ultimately my intention. Some people say the Proto-Indo-European root of the word “art” was the morpheme “rt.” A morpheme is the smallest bit of a language to make sense; a morphological unit of a language that cannot be further divided.
“Rt” was associated with creation, beauty, and moral and aesthetic correctness. It was concerned with what was “right.” And also, Sanskrit is considered to be the most faithful to the Proto-Indo-European root. The oldest word derived from “rt” that is still in use in relation to the original meaning is “rta.” Most scholars define the Sanskrit “rta” as both the “cosmic order of things,” a physical order of the universe, and a moral ordering of the universe.
I don’t have anything quippy to say. Photo by Khara Woods on Unsplash
My spiritual teacher, however, defines Rta as truth. For me, that means there’s a connection between art and truth. Art doesn’t always reflect the truth, of course, but when it does, it has power. We all know this. We’ve all been moved by art in some form or fashion. That’s also getting harder to experience because there’s so much competition. We’re being inundated with AI slop. It’s easier to create than ever before, but what, exactly, is being created? We have people creating parodies of the show Love Island using fruits. We have deepfake pornography. We have altered images left and right. But none of it is true, and I’m also not sure it can be called “art.”
The ideal, according to my spiritual teacher, is that artists will keep in mind thoughts of benevolence. He says, “People seek deliverance from the whirlpools of darkness; they aspire to illuminate their lives and minds with light all the time. All their actions, all their feelings, express an inherent tendency to move forward; therefore, if at all they are to be offered something in this regard, the creator of art cannot remain idle or inert.”
He also says, “[A]ll creators of art should express a universalistic outlook through their pens or brushes. If artists … do not do that, we must conclude that their artistic talents have degenerated. In fact, their contributions will then be nothing but rubbish, which may be fit for fertilizer, but if dumped nearby becomes hazardous to public health.”
So yeah, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be keen on AI slop. We have more and more entertainment and less and less art. We have less and less truth but inherently, that’s what we’re all seeking. I know it may not seem that way when lies spread quicker than a respiratory virus, but I do believe this. And for me, as an artist, I’m holding fast to my north star, which is that I may not have millions of followers, I may not be world-renowned, and I may never sell more than 100 copies of my books, but I’m creating something true. And that’s something I can be proud of.
I dream of a world where we recognize the power of art. A world where we endeavor to move people forward on the path of benevolence because we understand that’s the role of the artist. A world where we seek to not merely entertain people but tell the truth with our art.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I, like many, watched the Artemis II mission with rapt fascination. It was incredible to see so many updated images of the moon and Earth. But it also had me pondering our strong connection to the moon. People talk about how the moon governs water, and the human body is about 60% water, so the moon governs us, but science doesn’t substantiate that.
And while that and other statements about the human connection to the moon are largely myths, there are some grounded, scientific studies showing the moon tangibly affects life on Earth.
A study published in Science of the Total Environment found:
“Many factors affect sleep, including age, sex, illness, children, family status, exercise, medication and the environment. Based on this study, we can also say that the lunar cycle affects the duration and quality of sleep and that this effect is more pronounced among men.”
I know I have more trouble sleeping around the full moon, but it’s nice to hear I’m not alone with that and no, it’s not all in my head. What I find even more fascinating, though, is some scientists say life on Earth wouldn’t exist without the moon.
Earth sets over the Moon’s curved limb in this photo captured by the Artemis II crew during their journey around the far side of the Moon. Image courtesy of NASA
A Scientific American article from 2009 said, “Odds of nucleic acids forming on Earth without the lunar tides would be much lower.” I know it’s not a statement said with full certainty, and it allows for many possibilities, but still, we can flip it around and say, “It’s highly likely nucleic acids, the building blocks of all life, formed because of lunar tides.”
Another study backs this up. Published in the Journal of Molecular Biology in 2020, the researchers state:
“Starting with the beginning of the last century, a multitude of scientific studies have documented that the lunar cycle times behaviors and physiology in many organisms. It is plausible that even the first life forms adapted to the different rhythms controlled by the moon. Consistently, many marine species exhibit lunar rhythms, and also the number of documented ‘lunar-rhythmic’ terrestrial species is increasing.”
They add that the lunar cycle has been shown to synchronize a plethora of biological processes such as reproduction, photosensitivity, migration, and more. “[P]robably the most spectacular and documented event orchestrated by animals according to the lunar cycle is certainly the mass spawning of corals,” they write. “Like inside a shaken snow globe, once every year, the barrier reef explodes with eggs and sperm, a few days after the full moon, during late spring/summer nights, a phenomenon even visible from space.”
In other words, the moon isn’t just a “pretty thing to look at,” it affects life itself. What I appreciate about this perspective is the reminder nothing is separate, nothing is removed. We are embedded in an ecosystem with constant relationality. We humans like to pretend we’re somehow exempt from the world around us. That we’re unaffected by the laws of nature. Like there’s “nature,” and then there’s “us,” when that’s patently false. We quite literally evolved in tandem with the moon.
Beyond being a cool little factoid, I’m touched by this perspective because it reminds me no matter how alone or isolated I may feel at times, I am deeply, irrevocably tied to something larger than myself. In this case, it’s the moon.
I dream of a world where we recognize the moon isn’t just a cool object in the sky. A world where we understand life on Earth likely evolved in direct relationship with the moon. A world where we realize we aren’t alone or exempt from nature. A world where we remember our deep ties to the moon.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m coming off a busy, high-energy week and weekend, and instead of forcing myself to keep going, I’m being gentle and doing the bare minimum. I can think of no more fitting post than this one from August 2020. Enjoy.
When I thought about what to write today, the answer that came to me was, “Take a break.” I think it’s both a missive and a message, meaning I need to take a break, but also other people need to take one too. I can’t speak for anyone else, but for myself, I notice right now with so many things happening in the world, so many issues vying for my attention, it feels irresponsible to take a break. That instead, I must fire on all cylinders all day, every day. I think it’s in part because there’s pressure in the external world, but also in part because it’s how I’m made.
I am a fire sign. Not just astrologically (I’m a Sagittarius), but also my ayurvedic dosha is pitta. I want to “do” all the time. Resting is the complete antithesis of my natural tendencies, but it has become clear to me that resting is of the utmost importance.
This cat gets it. Photo by Aleksandar Cvetanovic on Unsplash
Back in 2013, I read Christine Arylo’s Madly in Love with ME, and she advised putting a hand on your heart every morning and asking, “What do I need today?” or “What do I need to receive today?” Today, anyway, the answer is “rest and recharge.” She also advises conducting an energy check-in to gauge how full your energy tank is. My energy level today is a 10. Christine says don’t give of yourself unless your energy tank is at 75-100.
I’ve gotten better at it over the years, but there’s still a part of me that pushes myself to do everything, anything. As soon as my energy tank gets even a little fuller, I empty it completely. But that’s not sustainable. I need to shore up my energy, allow myself time to rest, and to say no to things that drain me. It’s incredibly difficult for me to cocoon, to withdraw my energy from the world, to concentrate on me and only me. It feels wrong and selfish and uncomfortable.
I’m sure there are other people out there like me who are running themselves ragged. Not only is there pressure to do daily life things, but also to get out in the world, to make it a better place, to show up, to give. That’s real, but what’s also real is that regardless of what’s happening in the world, we deserve to rest because we are not machines (and even machines aren’t running all the time). We deserve to receive as much as we give. We deserve to take time out. We deserve to rest and recharge because that’s ultimately what serves ourselves and the people around us.
I dream of a world where we all take a break when we need it. A world where we balance giving and receiving. A world where we love ourselves so much that we treat ourselves with care. A world where we know we all deserve to rest and recharge from time to time.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m finishing up a housesit in Berkeley and typing this outside while birds chirp and the sun warms my face. A leaf just fell on my keyboard. Earlier today, a rainbow prism sparkled in my bedroom and lit up a nature scene on the wall so it seemed like the rainbow could have been part of the picture. I tried to capture it to no avail. Just a moment for me, I guess.
I forget it’s the small things, the pedestrian things that fill my heart to bursting. It’s not always the grand adventures or the big events that move me the most. It’s things like a small child crawling into my lap for a cuddle or unlikely friendships in the animal world. This brings to mind Mary Oliver’s famous poem “The Summer Day.” She writes:
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Let’s kneel in the grass. Photo by Jonas Weckschmied on Unsplash
People use the last two lines of her poem frequently to talk about being brave, going after their dreams, checking off items on their bucket list, but in context, Oliver is asking, “What is your day-to-day life like?” She wants to know if we’re noticing the small things, the things that are often overlooked. She wants to know if we’re pleased with the buzz of the bumblebee, if we stop to watch the dancing shadows of trees as they sway in the wind.
There are many, many things I wish were different in my life and in the world around me. But a lot of those things are out of my hands. Instead of wishing for better days, I’m coming back to here and now, remembering my wild and precious life includes not only the clamor and the clangor of big events but also the quiet chirp of crickets and laughter among friends.
I dream of a world where we savor the simple pleasures. A world where we recognize the joy in the mundane. A world where we remember happiness can be found not only in winning an award or manifesting our dreams, but also in hugging a dear friend and playing with a small child.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’ve been grieving and am reminded of a few things. One, grief is a portal, transporting us back to previous hurts that were not mourned. A dog dying may stir up grief about not only that dog, but childhood wounds of not feeling fully loved because the dog did what parents could not. The event (the dog’s death) is a portal, opening a way to previous losses as well. That’s why grief can feel so overwhelming, so outsized, because often it’s about a mix of things.
This is also true for me, and I have to say, I don’t love it. It’s not fun. And at the same time, I recognize I’m in a period of transformation. I’m letting go of old beliefs, outdated ways of behaving, and becoming someone new.
As if to underscore this point, the other day I had a strange dream. There was something stuck in my teeth and when I used my finger to pick it out, what emerged from my mouth was a fully formed, still alive, monarch butterfly that flew away. There was still something in my teeth so I again tried to pick it out and again what emerged was a fully formed, still alive blue butterfly.
The butterfly looked almost identical to this one. Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash
I asked ChatGPT to interpret my dream and it said the following:
Butterflies in dreams are classic symbols of transformation, renewal, and the soul. They represent something beautiful and alive emerging after a period of constriction or gestation. The fact that they were in your mouth is especially meaningful:
- The mouth is about communication, expression, and speaking your truth. Butterflies flying out could symbolize words, truths, or parts of your authentic self that have been trapped or silenced—now ready to come alive and take flight.
- Something was “caught” in your teeth — a feeling of being stuck, caught between holding in and letting out. When you finally touched it, instead of decay or debris, life and beauty It suggests that even what feels clogged or heavy in you (your grief, longing, sorrow) holds something transformative.
Colors matter:
- Orange butterfly: Often linked with vitality, creativity, joy, it could represent life-force returning through expressing your emotions.
- Blue butterfly: Blue is associated with peace and clarity. A blue butterfly flying out of your mouth could symbolize your voice being freed, your truth finally spoken, or words of healing coming through you.
Putting it together:
Your psyche may be showing you that even though it feels like you’re drowning in rubble right now, the very act of giving voice to what’s inside you—the tears, the grief, the raw truths—will lead to beauty and transformation. What you’re releasing isn’t ugliness or shame, but life, color, and freedom. Almost like your grief, when expressed, becomes medicine. Your voice, even when heavy with longing, is birthing transformation.
And finally: “It feels like a message that nothing is wasted. Even the painful stuff you’re trying to get out of your system has wings.”
Oh man. Even the painful stuff I’m getting out of my system has wings! How beautiful is that? So often, we think of releasing pain as something toxic, something to be rid of, to walk away from. But what if it’s not? What if the painful thing has wings? What if it’s actually something beautiful and sacred?
As a writer, I alchemize pain and turn it into art. The negative experiences I’ve had fuel my writing. I place it on the page so that others feel less alone. In my spiritual tradition, we talk about the power of art to inspire and transform others. My spiritual teacher says, “People seek deliverance from the whirlpools of darkness; they aspire to illuminate their lives and minds with ever-new light. In all their actions, in all their feelings, there is an inherent tendency to move forward; therefore, if at all they are to be offered something, the creator of art cannot remain idle or inert.”
Rather than being idle or inert, I’m taking all of the pain, all the grief, all the disappointment, and letting it transform me, and perhaps inspiring others along the way.
I dream of a world where we understand grief is a portal, opening the door to the past. A world where we recognize pain isn’t necessarily something toxic to run away from. A world where we understand sometimes pain can turn into something beautiful and transformative.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The title of this post comes from a fascinating article I read in my university’s alumni magazine. More than 15% of the global population – about 1 billion people – have been diagnosed with a physical, psychiatric, learning, developmental, sensory, or cognitive disability. And that number is likely to increase due to emerging diseases and natural disasters.
We treat disability like it’s abnormal but the reality is anyone who lives long enough will become disabled either because of an accident or age. For this reason, author and bioethicist Ashley Shew uses the term “temporarily able-bodied.” Yeeees. When I first heard that term, my entire body relaxed because it made so much sense and also reframed my experience as someone with idiopathic hypersomnia. Because I have to nap every day and am easily tired by too much activity, I perpetually feel abnormal. Why can’t I do the things other people can do? And how can I regain health privilege as quickly as possible?
Getting the reminder that people who aren’t currently disabled are experiencing something temporary helps me to feel better. It means I’m not abnormal and instead, other people are going to “catch up” to me, so to speak. I’m learning to live with disability sooner than other people but health privilege is temporary for everyone if they live long enough. To be alive means to have a body that will eventually break down. Instead of feeling envious of other people, I’m working to unapologetically love my body as it is, right now. There’s nothing wrong with me even though an ableist society says otherwise.
An excellent example of accessibility — not everyone can hike a rugged trail but paved trails allow those with mobility issues to see these natural wonders. Photo by Romain Virtuel on Unsplash
If you’re unfamiliar with that term, ableism is a system of discrimination and oppression that favors nondisabled lives and ways of being, often under the guise of empowerment. For instance, prosthetic legs enable amputees to walk “normally.” That’s not to say technology can’t make life easier for disabled people – it does – but society encourages disabled people to see themselves as chronically incomplete or lacking. There’s something wrong with them because they’re not able-bodied. This distracts from the real social ill, that “the world is set up to exclude disabled people,” to quote Shew.
The reality is we’re not all meant to be the same. My spiritual teacher says, “Human society is just like a garland which is made of different types of flowers, woven together by one common thread. The overall beauty of the garland is dependent upon the beauty of each flower. Likewise, each strata of society must be equally strengthened if we are to maintain the unity and solidarity of society.”
So first, diversity is the name of the game, and two, each strata of society must be equally strengthened. That means recognizing there is a place for everyone and furthermore, creating a more inclusive society that plans for the fact people are temporarily able-bodied. Instead of making people feel incomplete or ashamed for losing health privilege (or never having it in the first place), we’d be better off recognizing disability is inevitable. What are we doing to make the world easier, better, more inclusive, and more accommodating? Because after all, the future is disabled.
I dream of a world where we understand health is a privilege that eventually everyone loses. A world where instead of trying to hold on to health privilege, we create a society that accommodates disability. A world where we strengthen all segments of society because we recognize disability is a fact of life. A world where we recognize the diversity of human beings is beautiful, just like a garland.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Many cultures, especially in the West, treat Earth as a set piece, the stage upon which life happens. There’s nature and then there’s humanity. We’re seen as separate and dominant. But as former NASA scientist James Lovelock stated in the 70s with the Gaia Hypothesis, we are not managers of the planet, we are the planet. We are a piece of the complex, self-regulating system. For instance, plants breathe in the carbon dioxide we emit and we breathe the oxygen they expel. They need us and we need them.
When Lovelock’s hypothesis first came out it was met with derision but not so anymore. The earth system scientist Tim Lenton at the University of Exeter said he and a number of scientists “now think in terms of the coupled evolution of life and the planet, recognizing that the evolution of life has shaped the planet, changes in the planetary environment have shaped life, and together they can be viewed as one process.”
Darwin said organisms compete and adapt to environments. Only the strongest survive and all that. But now, the new perspective is organisms continuously reshape their surroundings with intricate feedback loops of transformation. Climate & Capital Media Founder Peter McKillop writes, “This isn’t environmental romanticism. It’s a scientifically grounded understanding of planetary dynamics that demands a complete reimagining of our economic, technological, and social systems if we are to survive.”
We are nature and nature is us. Photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash
So no pressure or anything – just the survival of our species. It seems like a tall order but it all starts with a mindset shift. How often do we think of nature as being “out there”? A place we go to? As if we could ever get away from nature! Not only is the very ground we stand on nature, but we are nature too. Our bones are made of minerals that we obtain from the environment. Most of the elements in the human body, like carbon, oxygen, calcium, and iron, were created in stars. We, ourselves, are stardust.
We are not separate at all. The entire cosmos is like a spider web and if you pull on one thread, it vibrates the rest of them. I have a friend who acknowledges this every morning in his prayers. He says, “I am eternally grateful to be an integrated particle in the infinite universe of your wisdom and will, and to live in your abundance and prosperity receiving your guidance, strength, mercy, and protection.” I can’t help but wonder what would the world be like if we all felt this way? That we are an integrated particle that is only one part of a whole. What would the world be like if we remembered that nature isn’t “out there” or somewhere to get to but rather, we, ourselves, are nature?
This is essentially the point of my meditation practice, to remember not only the connection but the unity with all of creation. I am nature, nature is me. I am other humans, other humans are me. I am the Divine Beloved, the Divine Beloved is me. I am not separate from anything and nothing is separate from me. I frequently get amnesia on this point but that’s also why I meditate every day, not only so I remember the concept but act on it. Because when I do, I treat everyone and everything with more care, love, and respect and that’s something we could all use more of.
I dream of a world where we remember we are an integrated particle in this universe. A world where we understand we aren’t separate from anyone or anything and nothing is separate from us either. A world where instead of thinking of nature as being something “out there” we remember we are nature and act accordingly.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I learned or relearned something recently about mothers and grandmothers. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries when she’s a four-month-old fetus, which means we spend approximately five months in our grandmother’s womb. It also means our grandmother was formed in the womb of her grandmother.
As Layne Redmond says, “We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born. And this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother.”
That’s pretty cool when you think about it. Because of how eggs are formed, there’s a chain that stretches far, far back, and connects us to our ancestors in a very real way. We have shared DNA and inherit traits such as eye color and height but we are also connected through the act of being there with them in the womb.
Our grandmothers carried us and now we carry them. Photo by Anton Luzhkovsky on Unsplash
As someone who didn’t know either of her grandmothers very well, this brings me comfort. I may not be able to tell a story about baking cookies with my maternal grandmother or her surprising me with a locket when I graduated from high school, but I am still connected to her. I am linked to her as I was in her womb receiving imprints, vibrations, and memories from the very beginning of my life. That may sound strange. How can an egg receive imprints and memories? But that’s exactly what epigenetics is.
Epigenetics is the study of how behaviors and an environment can change how genes work. Epigenetics change how your body reads a DNA sequence. For instance, rat studies demonstrated that exposure to THC (the active compound in cannabis) during adolescence can prime future offspring to display signs of predisposition to heroin addiction. In a human example, studies of humans whose ancestors survived periods of starvation in Sweden and the Netherlands suggest the effects of famine on epigenetics and health can pass through at least three generations. Nutrient deprivation in a recent ancestor seems to prime the body for diabetes and cardiovascular problems.
We like to pretend we live in a vacuum and are solely responsible for our lives or go to the other extreme and say everything is genetic. Neither is true – we are responsible for our lives and the choices we make affect our genes and the genes of our descendants, for better or worse. No one is perfect and I’m not interested in shaming anyone. Instead, on this Mother’s Day, I’m honoring not only my own mother but her mother and her mother and her mother and so on all the way back. I am connected to them and they are connected to me.
I am grateful for my ancestors, for the traits and skills they passed down, and as a descendant, I’m saying, “Thank you. I see you. I appreciate you. You’re not forgotten even if I don’t know your name. I carry you with me just as you carried me.” May we all be able to say that about our ancestors and our descendants, if we have any. And may we be able to say “Happy Mother’s Day” to someone in our family even if it’s not to our own mother directly.
I dream of a world where we understand just how connected we are. A world where we remember that we were with our grandmothers from the very beginning of life just as they were with theirs. A world where we understand there is a chain linking us all the way back to the first mother.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately I keep thinking about my Grandma Libele. Maybe because her birthday is right around this time. Or maybe for other reasons. Who knows? However, because the universe works this way, something interesting happened to me related to her and my grandpa. A friend of a friend sent me two stones from Lithuania, the country of my grandma’s (and grandpa’s) birth. My grandma would not have said she’s Lithuanian because back in her day (and I mean literally right around the year of her birth), Lithuania was under the rule of Russia and shortly thereafter her town in particular was a part of Poland. My grandma would frequently say she was from Poland when asked, but first and foremost she called herself Jewish.
She led with “Jewish” and not “Polish” because she felt so betrayed by her country. I mean, I get it. During World War II she was put into a ghetto apartment with nine other people, including children. She dug her way out of that ground-floor apartment and used the sewer system to escape outside. Her childhood home was burnt to the ground with all the family’s valuables stolen. When she asked former neighbors to shelter her, they refused. Eventually she found a farmer she could bribe with money in her family’s safe deposit box. When the money ran out, so did the sheltering.
My grandparents could have walked in this field, given the location. Photo by Geda Žyvatkauskaitė on Unsplash
I could keep going and get into more detail but I won’t because this post is not a Holocaust story. Instead, I’m merely sketching the details to say I understand why my grandparents felt betrayed and bitter about everything that happened to them and identified as Jews rather than by their nationality. However, their feelings didn’t die with them. Whenever I meet someone from Lithuania, or see pictures from that country, I feel an ache in my chest. There are unresolved feelings about Lithuania and knowing that, I asked a friend of a friend for a natural artifact.
This weekend I held a Lithuanian stone in each hand and promptly burst into tears. I think I’m the first person in my family to touch anything from Lithuania since 1945. My grandparents never went back to their country of origin and to my knowledge neither has anyone else in my family. I cried so much as I felt the grief and pain associated with leaving there. But I also felt the sweetness, the happiness that comes along with any person’s life. It’s not as if things were all bad in Lithuania – my grandparents had lives before the Holocaust. They laughed, they danced, they sang, they loved. Lithuania has not only traumatic memories for my family, but happy ones too. As I continued to hold the stones, I felt into that and eventually segued into peace.
What’s cool about this picture is not only am I in it along with my mom, grandma, and brother, but my little sister is in utero!
Lithuania is just a country and the people responsible for my grandparents’ trauma are dead now. And by holding these stones, feeling those feelings, that finally gets to be true. Lithuania doesn’t have the charge it used to. You may be thinking to yourself, “This is such a strange post. Why is she even talking about this?” I mention all of it because trauma doesn’t end with the people directly involved. It carries over, it runs through family lines. Thich Nhat Hanh says in A Lifetime of Peace, “If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.”
I am the continuation of my grandparents; you are the continuation of yours. What legacy exists in each of us that we can let go of? That we can heal? I’m sharing a little bit of my story with the hope it will inspire you to dig into your own. You just might find doing so will bring you peace.
I dream of a world where we realize we carry with us things that originated with our ancestors. A world where we honor those who came before us while also letting go of what no longer serves us. A world where we recognize our ancestors, despite being dead, have living legacies and that means those legacies are dynamic – they can change.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I spent the weekend at Redwood State and National Parks with a dear friend who is moving in 10 days so this subject matter is on my mind. Here’s a repost from August about another friend who was moving at that time.
I’m having a tough time with the impermanence of things. The good things in my life I want to lock in little glass jars and preserve them for all eternity. What’s funny is I have a similar reaction to the bad things. Not that I want to preserve them for all eternity, but rather it feels like they’ll be with me for all eternity. There is not a sense that this too shall pass.
I’m experiencing both of those sensations at the moment – wanting to preserve stuff and feeling like other stuff is interminable. A dear friend of mine is moving across the country in about 10 days and I’m really sad about it. I want him to stay here, I want things to keep going like they have been, and at the same time my sadness feels like a constant companion.
Buddhists would say my pain comes from attachment. I agree, I am very attached, but I don’t know how not to be. The word people use most often to describe me is “intense.” I love deeply and commit fully. There is no halfway for me. I’m one of those extreme personalities, although I’m working on learning moderation and the middle ground. How am I supposed to learn non-attachment? Well, I’m not.
I’m constantly trying to catch bubbles but when I hold on too tight, they pop. A good metaphor I think,
My spiritual teacher says, “[N]on-attachment does not mean to leave all pleasures and remain in a state of indifference to the world. It does not mean to leave everything and go to the seclusion of a mountain cave. Those who are truly non-attached do not deny the world (or worldly life); they embrace it, for they feel the touch of the eternal hidden within all the changing forms of their lives. They are with everything.”
That to me means non-attachment is seeing things in their true form: as an expression of the divine, which is eternal. Non-attachment means enjoying things while they’re around and remembering they are not the source of my enjoyment. I may love a person but love doesn’t die when they leave. Non-attachment means I love God in the form of this person, but ultimately I love God. Again, it comes back to ascribing God-hood to everything.
I’m not saying I’m no longer sad about my friend moving, because I am, but I do feel a little better because I’m reminded of what’s constant, of what’s eternal. I’m also reminded of my source for everything. My higher power will always bring me who and what I need. In fact, a few weeks ago I rode the bus home from a meeting when normally I hitch a ride, and I ran into someone I knew, who I just met a few days before. It felt like a message from my higher power saying, “Your friend may be leaving, but that doesn’t mean you won’t make new friends and that your community will disintegrate. I am your source for everything; remember this all comes from me.”
I dream of a world where we remember for better or for worse, everything is impermanent. A world where we take comfort in knowing what’s eternal. A world where we enjoy what’s in front of us but also practice non-attachment because we catch a glimpse of the true form underneath.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.