The meaning in no one, no thing.
A day to myself. A rare occurrence. I wasn’t sure if I would miss the chatter and the activity or if I would savor the quiet. Ultimately, it was the latter.
It turned out to be a day where I could take things slow. Real slow. It was mixed with work and simply being. There was a slower rhythm to both and it felt sweet.
So much meaning in my life comes through the roles I take on in my family and community. Today there was none of that. Meaning came from being no one for a day. There were no meals to prepare, no space to hold.
Instead, there were some walks and climbing trees. There was sitting and gazing skyward. There was listening to the wind, the beautiful sounds of wind. The subtle breeze to the occasional gust as the branches rustled without resistance, the shimmering of the sparse copper leaves remaining. There was just being with all of this. Meaning did not require me to have a role or an agenda. Meaning flourished as roles faded and being washed through me.
Tomorrow, I’ll welcome the roles, the chatter and the activity. For the rest of today, however, I will cherish being no one in particular, while feeling everything is a part of me.
My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe;
When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report, my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after so many things.
Ryokan, zen poet