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(The Hojoki is a classic Japanese text written in the thirteenth century by a Japanese recluse, Kamo-no-Chomei. In poetic form it presents an image of the momentary quality of human life.)
Life goes on. Of course. So why do we require this now to be perfect? This moment merely transposes itself to the next and the next. We want this success, this love, this freedom from pain, this car, this house, this job now.
Who will remember me a hundred years from now? If anyone knows my name what unrealistic images will be attached to it? Words about words, not about me. Even today I often write email to words, not people. Messages come from words I never met, from people who are different from those I knew. Their name-words appear on my computer screen. And I reply, expecting the words to read my messages in some distant part of the world-words, places I never visited or places that have changed since my visit.
The words I use in the messages have changed, too. Some are no longer acceptable, some date me as an old-timer, some have new meanings altogether, some no longer evoke images in the words who read them. Change, change. Of course.
Do you hope to pass on your wealth and success and values to your children? Do you really hope for such ephemera? The children who inherit your estate will not be the children you know now. What they do with your legacy is impossible to predict or control. And with each generation "your" estate prospers or declines, and "your" afterimage fades. Of course.
You die. New words are born. Of course.
Yet we don't give up. We often do our best for our changing selves and those changing others. Even though the results of our efforts are sometimes tragic and empty, we put forth good effort. Then, how sweet are the moments of success! How fulfilling the melodies of recognition and praise! How we treasure the murmured words of love and respect! These dots and phrases in the sentences of our lives give us encouragement.
Instant death and instant riches are possibilities in this world. Instant food and instant illness and instant cure and instant fame await some of us. We hear talk of casino winnings, love at first sight, sudden earthquakes, traffic accidents, train wrecks, quick loans, fast sex, instant-on appliances. Nevertheless, no one saves time. Time cannot be salvaged. There is always enough time to do what needs doing next.
What needs doing, of course, varies with the momentary situation. Rent a tuxedo or get the flat tire fixed; make a donation or borrow money. I can sometimes make sense of what you think you need to do. But your doing makes special sense to you. Psychologists and sociologists theorize about the whys of our behavior. Their theorizing makes special sense to them. But no one knows why you do what you need to do, or don't.
Intense, sudden pain generally fades over time. Anger, sorrow, jealousy, embarrassment fade, too. How kind of them! Unfortunately, the lessons we learn from these feelings fade, too. Fresh hopes, fresh desires, fresh ignorance creep into our minds. We keep on renewing ourselves.
We try to capture the past with photos and other media. Can you summon up that summer trip with an album? Where will those photos be a hundred years from now? What is their value stored away in the closet on the shelf? Memories are not the same as past experiences because the viewer is different now.
Books begin to look alike. There is so much I don't know and don't need to know. Life seems to repeat and simplify. Who must I please, really? There is just this doing, and the next. Familiar or not, beautiful things are still beautiful. Even as I grow older a pastel blossom, a graceful hand, lovely eyes, a white spruce, a child's smile, and a misty moon pull appreciation from me.
I am responsible to myself for all my behavior--from telling lies or truth to brushing my teeth and turning off lights when they are not in use. While taking this responsibility I must take into account what I have received from others and what I have given to them. I must consider how my behavior will cause trouble to loved ones, to strangers, to carrots and dahlias and spiders. And, of course, too often I forget the potential benefit and harm of my actions. So I go along mired in self-centeredness and undeserved pride, believing I am doing my share.
We all live thanks to the existence and efforts of others, human and otherwise. Plants and houses and jackets provide essential services to us. Sometimes we depend on others when such dependence is unnecessary. We waste resources to save a walk across a parking lot or to avoid the effort of turning off a running water faucet or to gain a few alternate minutes in our busy lives.
Who hires a gardener and then works out in a gym? Who serves elaborate frozen meals while working overtime to pay for them? Who drives an expensive car to an unsatisfying job? Who marries and then hardly sees their spouses? Who sleeps little and uses stimulants to stay awake? Who exhausts themselves on vacations? Who lives in the convenience of the city only to fight traffic every day?
Use your body well. Heed its messages. Preserve its skills while developing new ones. Your body is your sole vehicle for fitting yourself to the moment.
I can't know your dreams, your suffering, your love. However you try to express them they remain yours alone. Your paths may run parallel through parts of this forest. We can wave a greeting and share hand-drawn maps. This map is for you. May your path lead to fine clearings.
The end
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