When dropping your phone is not the end of the world

Written by Suraj Shah.

We consider possessions to be extentions of our own bodies – when cherished items get damaged, we foolishly feel the pain.

How did you feel when you last dropped your phone?

Yesterday I’d just parked up, got out of the car to head into a friend’s place, and was rummaging around for my phone. At first I couldn’t feel my phone in my pocket, so I thought I’d left it in the car.  Turns out that it was in amongst a pile of books that were in my arms.  Immediately I heard something hit the ground.

I looked down, and thought: “Shit.”

Possessiveness plagues the mind

The phone had hit the filthy hard tarmac head-on – and the phone was now in three pieces.

I stopped, picked up the three pieces (main phone, back cover, and battery), decided I wasn’t going to let it ruin my evening, put the phone back together again, inspected it for damage, put it in my pocket and then walked into my friend’s house.  In fact, I felt quite proud of myself for being so calm about it.

But whilst I was with my friends, I still had worries run through my mind:

  • What if the phone doesn’t work properly anymore?
  • How could I be so clumsy?
  • I still have 10 months left on the contract before I can get an upgrade – can I afford another phone?
  • I depend on my phone for web access to work while I am out and about – will this now confine me only to where there is web access at fixed locations?
  • How will clients perceive me if I am using a dented phone in front of them?
  • My phone’s not insured – should I get insurance now and claim the damage on it?

Manifestation of anger, greed, ego and deceit

When we drop something that we are attached to, a number of feelings naturally arise.  We feel annoyed at ourselves for dropping it.  We feel like we NEED to have a replacement immediately .  Our ego is dented, by seeing ourselves as clumsy, and by what we think other people will think of us when we walk around with a damaged item.  We may even consider telling a lie to blame someone else for the damage and try to wangle a new item through insurance.

The nature of the phone is to change

The fact is that the phone was never going to stay in pristine condition forever.  It’s nature is to change.  It is made of matter that will inevitably change form and colour when external forces are applied to it.

So why do we place our happiness on something that, by nature, will not stay the same?

It’s because we consider it an extension of our own bodies.  We have so much love for it, and what it can do, and how it can make us feel.  When it’s damaged, it’s as though we ourselves are damaged – we feel the pain.  When cherished items get damaged, we foolishly feel the pain.

Cultivating trusteeship to tame the pain of loss

So how do we resolve this pain we feel when we lose our cherished possessions?

The Jain concept of aparigraha is about non-possession.  Broken down to a-pari-graha, it translates to:

  • a = not / negate
  • pari = outer / external
  • graha = hold firmly

From the perspective of who we are at our core, our soul, aparigraha is about not having a firm hold on anything outside ourselves – this includes our possessions, our relationships, and even our own bodies.

Taking the example of the phone, it means simply being a trustee of the phone, rather than assuming full ownership.  It is about looking after it, using it appropriately, and taking care to maintain it, but knowing that it will not stay with us forever, or that we may not be able to use it at all times that we may want to.

Extending trusteeship beyond the phone

What else can we become trustees of and how would that work for us?  Can we become trustees of our cars, our houses, our jobs, our countries, our relationships and our bodies?  What would life be like if we fully lived out non-possession?

(Photo courtesy of Pat Castaldo)

Making the most of a sunny day

Written by Suraj Shah.

Things change.
Day to day, things change.
Moment to moment, things change.

It’s almost the end of June, but recently the days have been mostly cold and wet.

Today’s an exception. It’s gorgeous. The sun is shining strong, the air is warm, and yet there is a slight cool breeze. Perfect.

Some say that Britain is experiencing a mini heatwave this weekend, and by Tuesday it will be cold and wet again. They say the forecast does not look good.

Perhaps that’s why, rather than hearing so many complaints about the heat, almost everyone is outdoors and making the most of this sunny Sunday:

  • birds are chirping.
  • flies are having a field day in the garden.
  • the occasional butterfly if fluttering by.
  • kids are riding their bikes.
  • neighbours are painting fences and moving lawns.

It seems that everyone is making the most of this sunny day, perhaps because they know it will not last.

Neighbours have washed and hung out their clothes and sheets since the early morning, capitalising on the warmth from the sun to dry their clothes.

Friends on Facebook report loading their cars up with their families and heading to Brighton to enjoy time at the beach, or the local park, or to meet their brothers and sisters who have invited them over for a barbecue.

You just can’t ask for better weather on a Sunday.

But it won’t last – the sun will go, the rains will come, happiness and fun will be replaced with misery and complaints.  It’s what the forecast says, and they never get it wrong, do they?

Even now as I sit here to write at the dining table, with the patio doors wide open to enjoy the bright sun and the warm air blended with the cool breeze, a jet aeroplane thunders through the skies above my head, making it’s way over to the local RAF base.  The peaceful sound of the birds chirping has been rocked by the roar of the jet.

Things change.  Day to day, things change.  Moment to moment, things change.

Knowing this is perhaps the reason we make the most of a sunny day.

(Photo courtesy of kooklanekookla)

Who is looking back at me?

Poem written by Suraj Shah.

… and why do I hold these things so dear?

Looking in the mirror, straight into my own eyes,
Dare I keep looking at myself, caught up in these toxic lies.
Who is looking back at me?  How long will he be here?
Who is he, really, and why is there so much fear?

Here today but gone tomorrow, we all know that,
We are reminded about it time and again, as a matter of fact.
Who is looking back at me?  How long will he be here?
Who is he, really, and when will it become clear?

Immersed in the changing, by what will be no more,
To save my soul, I must learn, to simply shut the door.
Who is looking back at me?  How long will he be here?
Who is he, really, and why do I hold these things so dear?

This body and it’s relationships, though permanent we think,
Is but no more than an illusion, will vanish within a blink!
Who is looking back at me?  How long will he be here?
Who is he, really, and how do I attend to what is near?

The indulgence of the body, the attachment to my and mine,
Releasing control gently, surrendering it to the divine.
Who is looking back at me?  How long will he be here?
“Who is he, really?” is the ultimate question to persevere.

Listen to the poem "Who is looking back at me?"

(Photo courtesy of kirainet)