What do I own?
When we are young we gain things--job, car, house, marriage, children, family etc. When we get old we start to lose them. If we are lucky to live long enough, we will lose them all. So what do I really own? I had my wife but lost her. In this gain/loss equation, the only thing I own is I, myself. But what is "I"? Psychologists say we tend to associate ourselves with what are reflected through eyes of others--so I am a husband to a wife, or a wife to a husband, or a teacher to my students etc. We also often identify ourselves with external material possessions--our wealth, position, fame. But do we really own them? No, we don't. We come to this world without them and we will leave to relinquish them all.
Do we own our physical existence (our body)? Someone may say God own that. So the only thing we truly own (not just have, but own) is our spirit--our free spirit---our soul. If we truly believe, our spirit would live forever. All other individuals or things come to our live to teach us something and for us to grow our spirit. We may have them, maybe even for a while (like our spouses), but we don't truly own them.
If we don't own them, why do we feel so painful when we lose them? Because we thought we had owned them, and forever. We thought they were part of us but they left. We loved them so much we felt they were part of us--we are them and they are us--we unit as one. When separation happens, part of us (and more precisely I) is suddenly and brutally ripped off---we are devastated.
When Yan was in her last few weeks of treatment, she felt so painful and she consistently asked to let her go, to the doctor and to me. I even asked her oncologist if Hong Kong has the law to choose (he said no). In one day, she was lying in the sofa and looked at her body, and said something that struck me so profoundly--she said "I don't want this body". That was the moment I realized she wanted to be free, to be with her soul. In the last days, when the doctor said she had very limited time, and Dira told me to say goodby to her, and when I said to her "Baby, you have my permission to go", she actually showed a moment of peace (even a slight smile on her face). She wanted to leave this cancer-poisoned body and this war/death-rampant world, so badly, --she wanted to be free, for ever.
Now, I am so grateful to Dira for what she asked me to do, and I also somewhat knew why she did that. I don't really own Yan. I had her but not forever. Then, what do I really own? If I associate myself with external material things, I am destined to lose them and experience pain. But I own my soul, spirit, and consciousness, which live forever, and I owe (not own) my wife to set them free. How to do that? If I don't really own anything, then I shouldn't try too hard to own, but to experience. If external material things are just an illusion in future, then I shouldn't hold too much on them, but live NOW.
Do we own our physical existence (our body)? Someone may say God own that. So the only thing we truly own (not just have, but own) is our spirit--our free spirit---our soul. If we truly believe, our spirit would live forever. All other individuals or things come to our live to teach us something and for us to grow our spirit. We may have them, maybe even for a while (like our spouses), but we don't truly own them.
If we don't own them, why do we feel so painful when we lose them? Because we thought we had owned them, and forever. We thought they were part of us but they left. We loved them so much we felt they were part of us--we are them and they are us--we unit as one. When separation happens, part of us (and more precisely I) is suddenly and brutally ripped off---we are devastated.
When Yan was in her last few weeks of treatment, she felt so painful and she consistently asked to let her go, to the doctor and to me. I even asked her oncologist if Hong Kong has the law to choose (he said no). In one day, she was lying in the sofa and looked at her body, and said something that struck me so profoundly--she said "I don't want this body". That was the moment I realized she wanted to be free, to be with her soul. In the last days, when the doctor said she had very limited time, and Dira told me to say goodby to her, and when I said to her "Baby, you have my permission to go", she actually showed a moment of peace (even a slight smile on her face). She wanted to leave this cancer-poisoned body and this war/death-rampant world, so badly, --she wanted to be free, for ever.
Now, I am so grateful to Dira for what she asked me to do, and I also somewhat knew why she did that. I don't really own Yan. I had her but not forever. Then, what do I really own? If I associate myself with external material things, I am destined to lose them and experience pain. But I own my soul, spirit, and consciousness, which live forever, and I owe (not own) my wife to set them free. How to do that? If I don't really own anything, then I shouldn't try too hard to own, but to experience. If external material things are just an illusion in future, then I shouldn't hold too much on them, but live NOW.
Replies
Tiger ...personally I love the way you write...I can actually feel your words. I too gave \"permission\" that was well...you know; Live now...Yes Tiger..Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On the day Arlene died, she looked me in the eye and shook her head side to side. That was the only part of her body she could still move. With the tracheostomy and ventilator machine, she couldn\'t talk. I\'m not sure if she was telling me she was sorry, or that she was ready to go, or maybe both.
I was still hoping for a miracle. The same day, a Notary Public came to her hospital room to witness her signing a Power of Attorney document, so that I could apply for Medicaid for her. He deemed her competent, she made a mark with a sharpie in her mouth. That night, I put away the now meaningless document.
But I sensed something was different. I saw blood flow up her feeding tube when the nurse was feeding her, then she pushed it back down. A few hours later, Arlene vomited blood, and then her heart stopped. She was too frail for resuscitation, she would have suffered broken bones and internal injuries. We had already signed a DNR.
The only thing I \"own\" is my intellect and my soul. Some day, my intellect may even leave me. For everything else, I am a caretaker, a custodian. My computer, my guitar, are tools I use to \"do\" something; someone else would use them to do something very different. Some day, the things I own may be used by someone else, after I die, or if I give them to someone.
Sometimes it amazes me that musicians and composers have a recognizable style - they are just making sounds with instruments anybody can play. It\'s their spirit and intellect informing their study and training that makes them different. Writers use even more generic tools, words, and we can recognize Shakespeare from a few lines of text.
My wife was a writer, and a weekly journalist for a few years at The Jersey Journal. I read some of her columns tonight on the nj.com web site. I think most of them are still on her old computer, but I am thinking of asking the newspaper for a copy of her full archive. She made an impact on her readers. There was a photo of her next to her byline. For years even after the paper laid off their columnists, people all over the county would come up to Arlene and say, \"I know you - you\'re the newspaper lady.\" The fact that she connected with her readers gave Arlene a lot of pleasure.
My daughter is coming tomorrow to go through her mother\'s stuff, to become the custodian of things, her jewelry and tarot cards and anything else she wants. Perhaps some day she will give some of them to her children, or her friends. I am giving her clothes to a friend who loved her style, and what she can\'t use will go to her friends, many of whom are homeless and/or very poor. I already gave her Arlene\'s Kindle Fire, because she asked for it, as a memento of Arlene.
I called my mom on her birthday in October 2013. The aide in her assisted living room turned hospice held the phone for her. All my mom could say in response to me was \"Ok\" - I talked, paused, and she said \"Ok\" then I talked some more. I thought it was important to give her a chance to respond, even if that was all she said. I told her that I love her. That was my goodbye to her. She died the following March. For many reasons I wasn\'t \"close\" to her, but I took care of her when she needed it for dialysis before she couldn\'t live at home anymore. I visited her a few times in the facility, it was a nice place with concerts and lectures, and her aides were nice. She was able to have her cats there, which I took when she died. I became their loving custodian.
When asked what surprised him about humanity the most, the Dalai Lama replied:
Man. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.
I think that you are right, we only own our own indomitable souls, all else we acquire, love and lose in this life are gifts from a higher power.
Hugs,
Val
Your journal bought tears to my eyes. I love how you write. I love your wisdom. I will read this journal may more times. Thank you for the comfort your journal gave us who need your positive words!