This, too, shall pass

What creatures of habit we are!  It astonishes me, sometimes, to re-learn that simple truth, to encounter again the pleasures of the familiar, to see them in high contrast to the equally delightful pleasures of the unfamiliar.

I was off-kilter all day yesterday, close to tears at times and wondering what on earth had set me off, awash in this sadness... and now, today, I am restored to equanimity, simply by the familiar rituals: a cup of coffee in the company of Jack Kornfield, feeding the fish, walking the dog, then settling into my favorite chair for 20 minutes of centering prayer... It's all so refreshing (-- and lovely, of course, to be home.)

... which makes me realize, as Kornfield explains, that all these states of mind are mine and yet not-me; they are like clouds passing over the sun -- and sometimes rain and thunderstorms -- but the sun is still there, shining brightly beneath its cloak of feelings and sensations... just like this little statue, whom I last saw under a light dusting of snow, was still waiting for me at the bottom of a hill in Portland, glowing happily in a patch of sun.

I can tell myself, when I'm in the grip of these odd moods, that they will eventually fade away, but perhaps that's not the way?  Perhaps it was best to do just what I did: to notice, to feel it, to marvel at the source and the intensity, but not to get too caught up or to make it more than it was.  And then, this morning, to breathe again the stillness and the waves of love; to know that, too, will shift with time, and, below it all, to sense this marvelous oneness with light and life...  I wonder, sometimes, if that's a big part of faith, to know, whatEVER is going on in heart and mind, that "this, too, shall pass."

... and then, saying that, I feel a sense of anxiety kicking in.  What is it in us that feels so threatened by the ephemeral nature of things?

Hmmm.