Amid the bustle of worldly affairs, summer is hot and cool, dry and wet, clear and overcast, day and night…
I’m like that, too, one activity, another activity, and another… The papers are full of it, and the garden, too, in full bloom, and me.
News arrives by phone of a sudden grave illness in someone most dear. There is uncertainty and no small drama in the tale, leaving me anxious day to day until the reports of health improving. The fatal danger has been avoided. All is heading toward well.
But I had recalled the last words she had said to me at our final meeting, only days before: Don’t identify with anything.
What better parting words?
I think of Ryokan’s death poem:
Showing now its front side,
Now its back,
Falls a maple leaf.