Clearing up clutter to avoid the snare of worldly things

By Rahayu Ratnaningsih

JAKARTA (JP): At least a couple of people have sent me an e- mail petition calling for the Taleban to withdraw their spiritual leader's fatwa to destroy all Buddhist archaeological artifacts in the land, two of which were the tallest standing Buddha in the world of the pre-Islamic Afghanistan of 1,700 years old.

I replied that it was too late. It was sad but the irony was this vandalism echoed the very message of the enlightened one himself: impermanence and nonattachment. He would have told us to let go. And despite their cries and anguish, the world's Buddhists have taken the hideous attack on their religious icons very well: with mature, solemn and dispassionate acceptance knowing they can do little to instill some common sense in the menace of the world. If they treat their women folks as subhuman, what kind of civilized treatment can you expect from these men to a "mere piles of stones"?

My friend, Ann, an artist, recently found the pieces of work she cherished most were ruined in a flood. Initially, she was angry and then this gave way to sorrow as she cried and cried the whole day feeling the loss, but then she thought, although it was nice to have them, did she really need them other than for the sentimental values they provided? Why would she be attached to this baggage, she pondered philosophically.

Yes, why would we?

I am so attached to my newspapers. I have this habit of piling them up whenever I have not had the chance to read them, in the wishful thinking that one day I will have the time to sort them out and get hold of some real good articles or features, which, of course, I never do.

I usually still have papers from six months, or even a year, back. Recently I reduced them by three quarters, leaving a smaller pile of two months old. It took some time for me consider if each one of the "collection" should go straight to the dustbin or stay where it is. When I was done, I felt a significant burden removed from me.

My mom, on the other hand, is perhaps the most unsentimental breast-feeding creature on earth. She didn't take my -- and my siblings' pictures -- as a baby, which up to now I still regret very much, the blame of which was of course equally shouldered by my father.

How could any mother have done such a cold-hearted, unfeeling act toward her first beautiful baby? She threw away my first and second grade writing assignments, some of the few things I would have wanted to keep from my childhood just for the nostalgia they carry. And in a dramatic house clearing, out of ignorance, she threw away my diary together with its most private secrets and the magazines that published my short stories, the work of superb imagination of my high school days! She was simply ruthless, yet I can perhaps learn something from her: her acceptance of her simple life as it unfolds in the moment.

Newspapers were just one thing, not to mention the magazines and the small, cute cases, boxes, bottles, bags I thought I would one day need, which, again, I never did. Ouch, and the clothes! I managed to get rid of these old T-shirts I used to like, but were now quite worn out, and some other outfits which were still in good condition but for some reason I never really had the desire to wear (and of course I always thought, who knows, one day I would need or grow to like them). And past projects that brought memories and nostalgia of our achievements and importance. What about other nonphysical baggage from the past we are still dragging around: our past traumas, feelings of loss, bittersweet memories, anger, sorrow, pain and anguish?

There is so much clutter in our life, isn't there? The things, big and small, we are holding on to, which often we do not even remember having but still keep anyway whenever we bump into them occasionally, thinking that we are going to use or need them sometime in the future, which we never do. We identify ourselves with them, feeling that a part of us will evaporate when we lose them. It is an addiction. We are held back and can't move on and we wonder why our life is so taxing.

We all become snared by worldly things -- goods, possessions, relationships, personal comfort -- that we think are important but really aren't. Lao Tzu said, "To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things everyday." Easier said than done, we would say. Giving up ain't easy, is it?

But the fact is we do not shrivel up as we unload, we emancipate. To detach from all these things is to become uncaught by worldly life. Detachment means freedom. It means, besides letting go of belongings, letting go of attitudes and beliefs that hold us back. It entails leaping out of old emotional traumas that drain so much of our energy and interfere with us moving ahead. It even means becoming less entangled with family, not abandoning them but loving them with fewer strings; not as an act of indifference but as an expression of unselfish care.

The fact is each knot uncoiled does not bring us closer to death, it brings us nearer to life! Shedding all this baggage is a mental vacation, not necessarily a physical one. It's not so much the giving up of worldly things; it is a releasing from the desire for and dependence on those things. Thus, you don't relinquish enjoyment of life; rather, you set yourself free from the inevitable disappointments of life and disquiet that come from being addicted to these trappings, these snares of life. It's not enjoyment that is being given up, remember, it's desire, need, sorrow, and lack of peace. Without those, we can live an even more abundant, peaceful and fulfilled life. As the lower self recedes, higher Self clarifies.

Satya Sai Baba, an avatar, a God-man to his multireligious followers, comes out on the veranda and talks with several people about living life in tune with Spirit. Someone says, "But the spiritual life is such a hard work." Baba feigns surprise. "What? Hard work?" he says, a mock frown on his face. He extends a clenched fist, palm upward, gripping a handkerchief, saying, "Holding on is hard work." Then he flips it over and lets it drop. "Letting go is easy," he says and walks away.

Perhaps that explains why I felt a relief when I got rid of parts of my wardrobe and my newspapers. I shall cut them back some more.

The author is director of the Satori Foundation, e-mail: satori@cbn.net.id. Website: http://www.satorifoundation.bizland.com