At the beginning of April my partners and I sold our business and I began a new chapter in my life. I have no more work responsibilities—and—no more paychecks. My time is now unstructured. That feels, for now, more like being in a dream than being awake. In dream space there is no discernable structure—just the flow of experience. One moment dissolves into the next. My emotions rise and fall in reaction to subtle external cues: the sun rises; the birds sing; a cloud dims the sunlight; a leaf blower revs its engine into a blaring drone; the young girls who live next door shriek while jumping rope. Since the world is awake, I know I’m awake. But in this new chapter, I am experiencing the physical world in a more detached way.
The absence of work feels—at first—like an absence of purpose. But it also feels like an opening to a new experience—to experience nothing more than being. Being is a state that feels both utterly simple and utterly complex. It means letting go of the past and the future. It means holding, if only for a moment, the awareness that now is eternal. It means going into the essence of me.
When I do that, I see that my essence is reflected in the world around me. I’m in my study, which is filled with objects I’ve chosen over many years. I’m gazing out at my garden which, at twenty years old, shows the sumptuousness of its maturity. This is the world I have created. This is the self I have created. But then I realize that this external reality is actually an expression of my inner self, a product of the qualities I’ve nurtured: beauty, peace, harmony, love. These deep inner qualities are the essential reality, my only true possessions.
Today daffodils are blooming in my garden. I planted pistachio daffodils in the fall of 2010—and now they are astonishingly beautiful in the morning light. When lit from behind by the early morning sun, they glow with a pale yellow radiance that feels like the purest manifestation of delicacy I can imagine. What causes me to catch my breath is the intractable bond between this glorious delicacy and its transience. Impermanence is the essence of physical matter—but it is also what vivifies so much of what is beautiful in the physical world.
This morning is the daffodils’ morning. This day is the daffodils’ day. This me is me just now. Pax Intrantibus. Enter into peace.
The absence of work feels—at first—like an absence of purpose. But it also feels like an opening to a new experience—to experience nothing more than being. Being is a state that feels both utterly simple and utterly complex. It means letting go of the past and the future. It means holding, if only for a moment, the awareness that now is eternal. It means going into the essence of me.
When I do that, I see that my essence is reflected in the world around me. I’m in my study, which is filled with objects I’ve chosen over many years. I’m gazing out at my garden which, at twenty years old, shows the sumptuousness of its maturity. This is the world I have created. This is the self I have created. But then I realize that this external reality is actually an expression of my inner self, a product of the qualities I’ve nurtured: beauty, peace, harmony, love. These deep inner qualities are the essential reality, my only true possessions.
Today daffodils are blooming in my garden. I planted pistachio daffodils in the fall of 2010—and now they are astonishingly beautiful in the morning light. When lit from behind by the early morning sun, they glow with a pale yellow radiance that feels like the purest manifestation of delicacy I can imagine. What causes me to catch my breath is the intractable bond between this glorious delicacy and its transience. Impermanence is the essence of physical matter—but it is also what vivifies so much of what is beautiful in the physical world.
This morning is the daffodils’ morning. This day is the daffodils’ day. This me is me just now. Pax Intrantibus. Enter into peace.