One Thing

There’s only one thing I care about. Well, actually, I care about a lot of things, but they all come out of one thing. The strange thing is, I can’t describe this one thing because words can’t touch it. It’s not a thing, although it’s the only thing that doesn’t come and go like everything else. Wild, huh? What could it be? I keep asking myself, what could it be? How can I describe this no-thing that is nothing and everything all at once? Anything you can say about it is misleading, but most of the time, I call it beauty. You could call it love, too…same thing, really. By now, I’ve spent a lifetime wondering about it, finding it, losing it, and finding it again, only to discover that we can’t lose it because there’s nothing to lose.

Everything I’ve done over the course of 78 years, all the fuckups, all the beers I drank, all the cigarettes and joints I smoked, all the wasted time, all the hell I raised and lies I told, all the tears caused and shed, all the daily, hourly, struggle for some imagined better state of being, all the judgments, all the endless, painful sitting in half lotus, all the Samadhi states, and awakenings, all the pathetic prayers, all the striving, all the hurtful remarks given and taken, all the miles I drove, all the ladders I climbed, all the walls I scraped and painted, all the paint cans I opened, and brushes I cleaned, all the wood I chopped and chiseled and sanded, all the meals I ate, all the onions and garlic, tomatoes and carrots I chopped, all the knives I sharpened, books I read and movies I watched, all the Ludwig and Amadeaus and Miles and Django and Lady Day, all the Rembrandt and Botticelli, Durer and Giacometti, DeKooning and Warhol, all the Yeats and Whitman, Ryokan, Rumi and Oliver who went in my eyes and ears and broke my heart open, all the wanting and yearning, fear and sadness and lethargy, all the happiness and joyful days walking alone through summer fields, stopping and listening to the lonely voice of the wind in the winter woods like the loving parents going, going, gone and many friends now gone to the other shore and all the days and nights, the ups and downs with a friend, a true friend and the deepening gratitude and upwelling joy at the sight of my splendid children and grandchildren.

Every moment of every day is the silent question. What do we really, really want? While the merry-go-round turns and turns what is it that calls to us deep in our heart of hearts? What is that nagging feeling in the gut that will only be satisfied by one thing, which is a no-thing that includes everything?

This morning, while taking some time for silence, I sat near a window and watched a grey squirrel descend the maple tree right outside the window. He still wore his thick winter coat, and his intelligent, shiny, black eyes were looking everywhere with sharp attention. He stopped and started with quick, robotic-like movements. To sit and observe this creature without an agenda of any kind is a blessing. The mind is quiet and open, like sunshine on melting snow, and in this silence is a beauty beyond words.

-Lincolnville, ME 1/20/16