A Lesson in Cosmos
My husband mistakenly thought it was time to cut down the
cosmos and did so yesterday before I got home. I’m not going to lie: as I
approached the house and saw that the tall, beautiful bank of cosmos was gone,
I immediately knew what had happened, and I felt anger coming on. So, I breathed
deeply, and sat.
Question: Should I ask him about the cosmos while I’m angry
and clinging to their memory? Or should I release the flowers and my attachment
to them, meet my husband in love, mention the cosmos but not in anger, and
accept this lesson in impermanence?
Answer: I turned to the Buddha’s teachings on the insubstantial
nature of everything and embraced impermanence. Everything is in flux. Nothing
stays as it is. My husband made a mistake. He was trying to help me by doing an
unpleasant garden chore – the taking down of flowers. He removed the last of
our cosmos, flowers that I was coveting because they were the last, and in
doing so, released me from my attachment to them and allowed me to learn.
When I greeted him, I said I noticed that the flowers were
gone. There must have been a shadowy look in my eyes that gave away my sadness,
because he right away launched into an explanation. It was easy to see that he
was upset that I was upset. In seconds, I could see that he felt bad, sad,
remorseful, and a little worried.
I smiled and thanked him for doing a garden chore I hate to
do. Then, I quickly asked him how his work on the boat is going. We got to
talking about that, and I forgot about the cosmos. All I had in my heart was a perfect
feeling of freedom from that attachment, and a profound love for my husband.
Clinging brings anger: anger is the sibling of clinging. Whether
we cling to people, past events, current events, or flowers, the result of
holding on - when we should be letting go - is anger. The fruit of anger is
unhappiness.
My husband and I were happy last night. We had a yummy dinner
together, walked outdoors for a bit, cuddled with the dogs and each other, and
later, made love. Late in the night, I dreamed of cosmos.
New cosmos seeds were dropping from the sky like snow, and
I was trying to catch them. They slid across the palms of my hands and fell
between my fingers and onto the ground, where they dissolved into the grass. I
couldn’t catch even one.
Here’s the thing: I wasn’t at all sad about it. The seeds
were beyond my reach, and it was ok. So, I stopped trying to catch any and just
let them drift around me. When I looked to the ground, there were no seeds
to be seen. I realized that the seeds belong to themselves, not to me.
Nothing is mine, not even the most precious Dharma.
Much love,
Barbie xo
