jusummerhayes

Does it really matter?

Photo by Dimitry Anikin on Unsplash
Photo by Dimitry Anikin on Unsplash

Good morning.

It's Friday — although I no longer know what that means — and I'm here again, writing that is.

You'll excuse the tendentious title but it's been appearing a lot over the past week.

Of course, prima facie it all matters

Or does it?

What matters most to you?

Your life?

The life of others?

Or something else?

Are you living your life that way? First things first and all that malarky.

The thing is, even before Covid19 reared its ugly head, I was struck by how little we cared about certain things — e.g. the earth, animals and in some cases our mental wellbeing. And save for the latter, which I'm sure is a big issue right now, I'm not sure we've changed our mindset. If anything, the 'we-don't-give-a-shit' modus operandi has returned or will return in abundance. Terribly judgmental I know, but I'm simply reporting in on what I've seen, heard and read. Put it this way, most people want to return to business as usual, and we know where, in time, that will leave us.

In anticipation of the brickbats, I'm not resiling from that last statement because, let's face it, we've been on the take from nature et al. for way too long and it can't have come as any real surprise that living cheek by jowl with some of her more egregious tendencies is at least partly to blame for the spread of such a pernicious and successful (qua its host) virus.

Let's back up a bit though.

Who are we?

Our thoughts, feelings, emotions, senses and a bushel of stories?

Are we?

What, when everything is changing?

What are you talking about, Summerhayes?

Well, from a non-dual perspective, there is only this. This moment. This happening. This thisness, if that's not too contrived. 

To make it less woo-woo, high on its own spiritual juices, let's just say that we're part of the great mystery of the universal happening. Nothing is fixed or can be named and whilst that's no answer or no apparent answer to what does or doesn't matter, at least so far as my thinking has been over the last few days, I've kept returning to a space where I can't escape the fact that one day I won't be here, and, despite Job's invocation to make our dent in the Universe, nothing I do really matters

Argghh, speak plain English man.

I am.

What I'm saying is that when you stand back from the physical activity, the mental thrashing (Monkey Mind and all that) and try to apprehend what's really happening, it's hard to label things beyond, in my respectful view, not knowing.

Yes, that's it.

When you start down the road, the long and often tortuous road of self-enquiry — i.e. Who or What am I? — it's not long before your mind simply can't get to the absolute and declares victory to the space of emptiness, nothingness or not knowing-ness.

At least that's what happened to me.

Or a quicker way (we're such a lazy lot) is to step out into nature and sit. And sit with nothing other than a great vista or river or tree or the grass for company. It's not immediate, but it doesn't take long for me to be lost in a sense of reverie and then I feel (again, don't laugh) as if I'm one with everything. Perhaps that's why I'm obsessed with sharing all these bloody images of where I live. Who knows?

To be clear, the rubric is not a get out of jail card for life, living or doing things that you feel are important to you, but less in a nihilistic sense but more in a state of pure exaltation, my suggestion, once in a while, is to invite the question: Does it really matter? — and then see where you are.

Anyhow, I'd better take the old pooch out for his daily constitutional before settling down to work and a few other things.

Take care,

Blessings, Ju

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