Attachment

I am a passionate person. There are few things on which I have a neutral opinion. In fact I think it must be a challenge knowing me because you never know when I’m really, really, honestly excited about something. Because I always seemed excited about whatever I’m talking about at the moment. I find that I really feel strongly about a lot of things. I guess it’s that passion that attaches me to things, ideas and people. I also think that that very passion is what causes me so much trouble.

For the past decade or so I’ve really become passionate about Buddhism. There are a lot of things I like about this philosophy/religion. A lot of things. Things I’ve felt are missing for myself, or maybe they are said just differently enough from my own Christian tradition that they feel new. But regardless of this fact, Buddhism is something I feel passionate about. I do not consider myself a practicing Buddhist. I love the tenants of Buddhism; I try and follow the Fourfold Path and the Eight Noble Truths. I find peace in them. And it’s because of these doctrines that I often find myself wearing a Buddhist mala. Prayer beads. Buddhists will wear these beads, for the same reason Catholics have rosaries, to remind themselves of how they want to live and to concentrate the mind when trying to get closer to the divine.

I’ve always been a jewelry wearer. I like rings. I like bracelets. And so when I found Buddhism I felt like it was a natural step to wear a mala. I don’t consider myself Buddhist, but I do try and follow some of the Buddha’s teachings. So I wear a mala. The first one I bought onyx, perfectly black beads, varnished to a high sheen. Very chic. The next one I got was made from bodhi seeds. Seeds from the kind of tree under which the Buddha became enlightened. Very cool. Then I got one that was made from bone, to illustrate the transience of life, that nothing is permanent. I wore these for a long time. Then, about two years ago I was in a secondhand shop in Seattle Washington and I saw an old mala just hanging from all the junk jewelry. It was simple. Wood. Just plain wooden beads, very well used, darkened from the oils from someone’s skin. I don’t know why someone would get rid of it, but I knew it was meant for me. I bought it for two dollars.

I’ve been wearing those wooden beads for almost two years now. I love them. When I wasn’t wearing them I would put them in my pocket. They brought be comfort. When I was stressed I would reach into my pocket and feel the cool smoothness of the wood and remember which of the Eight Noble Truths I was working on and feel reassured. I had them with me always. And then I lost them. I don’t know where they are. Their loss has caused me considerable mental grief. I’ve looked everywhere – pockets of pants, kilts and jackets. I’ve checked in the car, in the garage, in the basement. I’ve asked friends and family. The beads left my life as simply as they came into it. They’re just gone. And I’ve been unable to focus because I feel strange without them on my wrist.

The Buddhist tradition talks about a couple of things that are important to me. First, impermanence and the second is attachment – this is the idea that nothing ever stays the same and that since it cannot stay the same, being attached to it is folly. On it’s face, this seems moronically obvious. Everyone knows that nothing ever stays the same. But Buddhists really think about it. If nothing ever stays the same, and everything is always changing, then how can I place my love in something that will be different tomorrow? Where is my love? Where is my passion for that thing, if the thing itself has changed? Now, on it’s surface this seems a bit farfetched. But I really like this idea. Day to day, your love for something (and I am talking about things, not people) won’t really be obvious. But over time, as that thing changes, or you yourself change, then the energy you put into that thing is really, in the end, just a waste.

I have really tried to stay as unattached to things as I can. I’m not really happy with the level of materialism in America today, and that materialism is being stuffed down my throat with every drop of media that seeps into my brain. I find myself needing more and more; and once I have that thing, that desirable product, I need the newer one, the one that just came out. Even though I’m aware of this tactic that the media shamelessly uses I still find myself complicit in the conspiracy. I know I shouldn’t want the newest phone or iPod, but I do. I do. I want it more and more and find myself unsatisfied when I don’t get it.

I’ve tried living unattached as well, especially in my home. I know my carpet is a strange color and is worn in places; but it works. It works. I know my ceiling leaks a bit on really raining days, but a bucket works on those days too. I know my toilet is a bit discolored from years and years of hard water stains, but it still functions. And I don’t think I need more than that. People, even family, comment on the fact that our carpet is a bit worn or the toilet is a bit discolored. I take it as a point of pride that I don’t need to replace them. I’m fine. At least as far as those items, I’ve been able to fight off the ever-present Home Repair commercial that tells me I shouldn’t be satisfied with what I have.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not neglectful. When something needs to be fixed, I fix it. But just because it doesn’t work or look perfect, isn’t a reason to replace or upgrade. But I want to be attached to relationship with real people, not with inanimate objects. I don’t want to feel tied to my “things”.
A few years ago my computer fried itself. A lot of important things were lost. Diaries, stories, thoughts and feelings, all of them, gone. I mourned, literally mourned over the loss of my things. But in the end, that’s all they were, things. I had placed so much value on what I had that I was unable to cope or function without them. It was a hard lesson for me to learn. Being attached to things will only bring sadness and disappointment. Because all things change, and once something changes for the worst, there is nothing to be done. And if I’ve put my trust and faith and hope in something that cannot, by its very nature, stay the same, then I’m really betting on failure and sadness.

I can’t believe how attached I was to those beads. I think that the term irony is misused too often. But it seems perfectly ironic that I became incredibly attached to something that symbolized non-attachment. I’ve been pining over those beads for two weeks now. Searching my memory, trying to figure out how I could have lost them, or where I could have put them. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized they had came into my life when I really needed them. They taught me a lesson. But more importantly, they taught me a lesson by leaving my life again too. Putting value on material things will only bring me suffering, and there’s no cheese at the end of that tunnel. I need to look to myself, to my own perceptions and feelings about the world and deal with that, not with the changeable things that I am attached to. The beads are worth that.