Here's a story about a spiritual seeker who traveled from California to London to meet a great rabbi. He arrives at the address, a huge mansion in a fancy part of town, but when he's shown in to the master's study he's surprised to find a small room in the attic, the only furnishings a single bed, a desk, and lots of books. "Where are all of your things, rabbi?" he asks. "Well, where are all of your things?" he replies. "But I'm only passing through," the seeker protests. "Well, so am I," says the master.
Most of us aren't going to commit to such an aesthetic lifestyle but the point is obvious: attachment to stuff isn't going to help much at some point. Dead in the ground is dead in the ground. I believe I'm a much loved person but in ten years very few people are going to be able to hork up my memory and after twenty-five years the list will have dwindled to almost nothing and in fifty years? You think someone is going to be talking about me in twenty-five years? Fuggetaboutit.
There's another story about a wealthy man who was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer. He was told that he would die within six weeks unless he chose to undergo brain surgery, but the location of the tumor meant that he might lose all ability to speak, write, read, or understand language. As you can imagine this was quite the decision to have to make.
What would you do? What would I do? Could I contemplate a life where a passive appreciation of the natural world would be all that was left to me? Sitting quietly and being? Whew. Would this be enough? Whew.
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