I’m sitting outside on my deck this morning, wrapped well in blankets, and reflecting on impermanence. All mundane objects – material forms, thoughts, sensations, emotions, even energy – arise from conditions and cease when the conditions cease. Eighty mile/ hour gusts brought down these two long-time friends last week, trees Hal and I planted over 50 years ago. I may not want change, but it will happen. To cling is to suffer. I’m led to reflect: to what am I clinging?

Maybe a better question is, to what am I not clinging? When I look, I don’t find much. I’m attached! A clear mind; a functional body; absence of pain; my family and friends; a beloved home of 55 years with its beautiful trees; a pleasant meal; a good night’s sleep, a sunny day; world peace; even, or especially, the dharma! That item is the only one that has permanence!

For the most part I can’t control any of these any more than I could control the trees uprooting and breaking, or where that hard gust would strike.

I’ve been contemplating any distinction between holding on and letting go; I’m finding that it’s not holding on or letting go that’s central but the texture of the energy and effort behind them. If I let go with tension (trying to let go) there’s suffering; if I hold on with tension, there’s suffering. In either, there’s an “I” and “my will”. Laughing! I know that if I try to let go without tension, there is tension; any “doing” creates tension”. But don’t we have to ”try”, to make effort toward change or toward stability? What is effortless effort? There is no ”I” in it.

Meditating on the deck, eyes open, light breeze; sky turning blue. Awareness is present with the still or moving branches, especially the light twigs at the ends of branches; present with their gentle movement. The breeze pushes and they move; the breeze ceases and they quiet; the breeze blows and they move again. A body sensation arises, a small cramping energy; unpleasant. Dislike arises, then growing aversion. There is some moment of efforting choice: to move away from the aversion; to quiet the aversion; to try to move away from the discomfort or even to try to rest in innate stillness. Awareness watches such “doing” with spaciousness, just observing, as one would observe a blade of grass bent by the wind. Movement can be kind and led by love, not by aversion to the pain. If there is movement, that movement is a very gentle one that’s not grounded in aversion but simply in kindness and compassion for this human, stepping back from the heart so to speak.

The one who is aware is always there. The challenge is to recognize that presence amidst all the mundane-world busyness. There is knowing that the place to find that awareness and stabilize my connection with it is in meditation. And then quiet.

Breathing in and out, eyes open and soft, seeing through “Buddha eyes.” The trees and whatever Barbara is, rest in that spaciousness. Forever.