The human personality is an edifice to the past. It is the conditioned self, the sum total of all of our experiences and of our reactions to those experiences. It’s why some of us are left-handed, others of us stutter, and why Glen Campbell did what he did while drinking like a fish and being unable to read a note of music. We haul this accumulation around with us. We think it is who we are, but it isn’t. It’s just mental and psychological stuff, a moldering pile of bellicosities and beliefs, of preferences and aversions, of memories and habits, of suspicions, traditions and worry patterns. It is good, now and then, to drop this congealment. To draw a breath. To see a bird without naming it.
Home is not a house; it’s the present moment.
If we are not present, we are not at home.
The prodigal son awakened in a pig barn. Stunning, to find oneself at home in a pig barn.
Life is a near-entirety of ordinary moments. Can we inhabit an ordinary moment without pining for a less ordinary moment, filling it with content or using it as a means to a more stimulating moment?
“One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in his temple.”
It’s not a building, the temple; it’s an ordinary moment.
Let us be resolute in our commitment to the present moment. And why, as a practical matter, should it be elsewhere? Life is not in the future, neither is it in the past.
Nothing in the natural world has a purpose. We step into Nature and we exhale: “Ah, no purpose here.” Nor any need for one. Bears have no purpose. They do not take vacations. After all the excitement, the disciples were told, “Stay in the city.”
Make of nothing a means to an end. The end is the means. This is the essence of the Gita: Take no thought for outcomes. Expect the unexpected.