This week I’ve been spending the majority of my time helping family move.
If given a word for every time I’ve moved or helped another I could very well write you a sonnet, but today I’ll attempt to give you more with limited wording so to keep in the spirit of this topic.
Helping others move has become an exercise in the observation of the human condition. It has helped me access my very own nature as a consumer.
I visited the city dump many times to trash the material items that brought me so much joy. In this observation I can and with confidence say that material items even those of sentimental value bring temporary pleasures, so to neglect earthly possessions is an act of virtue.
I’m in awe that we’ve created a multi-billion dollar industry just on shit we waste (no pun intended).
The human who has tasted riches but can still live in poverty or the poor who has had the ability to become rich and continues to live the way in which he/she had is a pursuit many will not undertake.
Minimalism has become a way of life . In the past few years I’ve opened myself up to the world of mindfulness and philosophy and a tectonic shift has occurred with an earthquake of high magnitude. The life that I led previously contains a crack so wide that I could never go back to the former.
Minimalism has taken on many different definitions, but to me it’s living with what you need, being extremely guarded with every new purchase that does not derive sustenance and the awareness that everything you purchase will go back into the earth.
To see the world for what it is – temporary, rented, short and constantly changing has given rise to gratitude and eternal joy – or at least until this bodily frame will allow me.
Visiting the dump, seeing an excess of technological gadgets, the amount of wasted clothes/shoes – brings me to Walden Pond where Thoreau speaks to me through recycled trees and carbon black ink. About minimalism he said, “we have become tools for our tools.”
The more things we have the more we become a slave to them. The sojourner cannot begin to seek if he/she has so much “material crap” to constantly manage.
Written with Love,