Teaching our kids about the world is one thing. Teaching our kids about themselves is a whole other enterprise.
There are 300,000 items in the average American home, which itself is three times bigger than it was 50 years ago. We’re drunk on non-essentials, on what matters least, oblivious to what’s necessary.
My personal staff consists of a mind, heart and body (MHB). Their job is to look after things so I’m free to be who I AM during this little sojourn. Altogether it’s a pretty good arrangement. Special props to B for digesting my food.
Sex is not bad. It’s the desire for sex that creates a howling host of problems. It’s the same with possessions. We have them because we want them, not because we need them.
Are we not alternately fascinated with, resigned to, fixated on and horrified by the process of aging? The reason for all of this turbulence is that we are in thrall to our bodies, utterly identified with them. But here’s the thing: We are not our bodies. We have bodies but only in the sense that we have cars, houses, clothes or any other material thing. In fact, the materiality of the body is what makes it difficult to change.
My body has an age measured in years. It has logged 68 of these. But the “I” that I am has no age. “I” is as old as God.