You can't take it with you

I've been "grubbling" alot lately. To "grubble" means in Swedish to be stuck mentally in a somewhat melancholy, puzzled state - you know, the kind that makes you go around muttering incoherently to yourself; the only difference being that you mutter about in silence.

It has to do with the autumn. This year's gone so quickly (again). It's been nearly six months since we were in Florida. The summer months and time off from work have drawn to an end. The only thing left before winter once again is unleashed upon us are, at best, a few weeks of crisp air and fall colors that seem to come and go at will. So when I was out walking last weekend, my head was spinning like crazy. I felt like I had to take it all in. Senses set on overload. Musn't miss a moment, a breath. Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I was determined to TAKE EVERY LAST DETAIL IN, DANG IT! Something like this: Look! Blue sky! Listen! Birds chirping! Wind in leaves! Look and Listen! A flock of geese heading south (gulp)! Focus! Feel your footsteps! Smell the soil from the harvested fields! Hurry up! Notice your breath, your heartbeats! All this, so that I might have something to fall back on and wrap around myself like a quilted comforter while I await the light of spring's return.

Needless to say, the ratio of pleasure and stress was about 50-50.

So I contemplated this mystery in meditation. I thought somewhat defensively, "I was under the impression that this is how I was supposed to practice santosha (contentedness)? By acknowledging the wonders of nature... By appreciating my abundance... By recognizing that I am a tiny part of the infinite whole... So why am I feeling more anxious than fulfilled?!"

Then my Silence spoke to me. While taking in all the universe has to offer is the right way to go, the pleasure associated with it is meant to reinforce my conviction that I am exactly where I should be - at that particular moment... Instead I've been like the person, heck, I AM the person, who wastes their vacation making sure all the perfect pictures are taken so that we can have the memories as keepsakes. It's no different than the rich man who's determined to bring his fortune with him into heaven, a feat even more difficult than a camel going through the eye of a needle. Memories cannot be a surrogate for joy. This is what my silence told me. So I asked, "Well, what do I then, when life is dark, dreary, and allover depressing?!"

"You seek out the positive from that particular moment, so that you can again experience the same happiness you felt on your autumn walks." In other words, memories really won't help me then anyhow, so I shouldn't bother wasting energy wishing I was somewhere else.

Then I saw this sign a week later in Stockholm.

Well played, Silence, well played.