I was sitting on the beach in Maui, surveying all the stuff I had brought along on my sun and surf outing: sandals- mine, hat -mine, kindle – mine, beach chair – borrowed, beach towel-borrowed, beach games -borrowed. All these objects –mine and borrowed — just jumbled together, it made me start thinking what exactly is the difference between the two? I know, I know, in a conventional sense the mine stuff comes back home to SF, the borrowed stuff stays at the Maui beach rental. But in a dhamma sense, why do I feel so differently about these two categories of objects? Aren’t they essentially the same? After all, they are both just sets of rupa objects, living in a rupa world.
I sit in the borrowed chair, I use it for a little while, and then I return it. I know this chair and I have our moment in the sun together and then we go our own separate ways. Isn’t it the same with my objects? The hat I am wearing is falling apart, nearly split in half, I know that this is going to be its last sunny outing; even my objects are only with me for a little while before we part ways. How is this not exactly the same as the chair?
Is the sand I sit on mine? Or the ocean I play in? These seem even less mine than the chair. Which part would be mine — which grain of sand or drop of water? But by the same token, which cell in my body can I really point to and say, “mine”? Which item in my wardrobe is actually mine when dresses, shoes, hats, are all constantly coming and going like the waves?
I look down at my sandals — ugh, I can’t get the Velcro straps to close. They were fine this morning, but after they got wet on the beach they have been soggy and unwilling to fasten. The thing is, Velcro has its own set of rules, rules for when it closes (dry) and when it doesn’t close (wet); Velcro doesn’t follow my rules, if my object refuses to follow my rules, is it really mine? My silk shirts will stain if I get them wet, my cars need gas to run, if I step on my already fractured toe the wrong way it will break. Each of these items has circumstances under which they work and circumstances under which they fail. That is in their nature, in their rupa. But somehow, I find myself disappointed when my sandals don’t fasten or when my hat falls apart, when my objects don’t follow my rules.
In the end, my things disappoint me, they are not dependable, because they are subject to their own rules, to their own karma. To cause and effect. Greed for my stuff — the very nature of mineness — presumes I can count on my items, that they were there for me in the past so they will be there for me in the future. Hell, they are MINE, I can dictate their future! But is the past really a guarantee of the future? If it was, nothing would ever break that hasn’t broken before. Does the label “mine” mean objects will follow the rules and path I dictate? That they will be with me forever, or at least as long as I want them to be?
Everything in the world that meets also separates, it arises and ceases. I’m not sad when the ocean wave crashes –its natural, it has met shore, changed form, its causes for continuing as a wave have died. But the things I want, I love, I own, I cling to, these things and when their true temporary nature shows itself, break my heart every time.