The other day, I found some odd, sand-like substance on my dresser. At first, I thought it was termite droppings. I live in an area that is well-loved by termites, and I have some familiarity with termite droppings. I quickly realized that this was something different.
A quick scan of the dresser showed me the source of the sand. My beloved purple and green frog had been torn open. This little guy was a cross between a stuffed animal and a cheerful decoration. At first, I wondered how this had happened, but then I recognized this as the handiwork of a bored cat. My immediate reaction was to gather up as much of the sand as possible and to repair the tear. This little frog was a gift from my father, so its value to me went well beyond any monetary worth for a small sand-filled frog.
In this scenario, you can see that I perceived the destruction of my frog as a bad thing and that I was having attachment issues. Look at how I describe this little item as “my frog.” And my initial response was not one of acceptance, it was to find a way to keep my frog.
It did not take too long for me to see the truth behind my emotions and my reaction. This was about clinging to a gift from my father. We used to give each other silly things. As I write that, I look across the room to a bookshelf, and I see a little stone gargoyle—also a gift from my father.
I realized that it was time to let this little frog go. He had served me well. Until he became a target for my cat, I rarely paid attention to him. He was just sitting there on the dresser, part of the landscape. Once he was broken, the green and purple frog became an opportunity for me to deepen my practice.
First, it was to notice the sand and to realize the source of the sand. Before I knew where the sand had originated, I perceived it as negative. Next came the realization that this frog, this representation of my relationship with my father, was broken. Then, with my perception that losing the frog was undesirable, I decided that must repair this little memento. Finally, the understanding that it was time to let go: to sweep up the sand and the little frog, and to move on. Letting go did not diminish my love for my father. It did not erase my happy memories.
This was truly a small event, from start to finish. The finding of the damaged frog to the letting go probably took less than 10 minutes. Yet it was very impactful. I was confronted with my lack of equanimity, a reminder of the importance I place on my relationship with my father, and the truth of impermanence and clinging and aversion. Talk about a living Dhamma lesson!
This incident did not inspire me to go on a hunt to remove gifts or things that I associate with people who are gone. It has motivated me to be aware of these items and what emotions arise in me as I look at them. What significance do I attach to these things? How would I feel if that gargoyle I see across the room disappeared? Would I notice? What if it broke? Would it be an item that I am not ready to release?
There are some items that I still have, but because I do not focus on them, they are part of the scenery; perhaps a book or a picture that sits on a shelf. Most days, I do not even notice them. If the book or the picture falls off the shelf, memories do arise as I place it back in its familiar spot. If, like the frog, the item were to be damaged, would I perceive this as negative and consider repair before release?
The torn frog has shown me that my attachment exists in different measures. I am not able to look at all of the material items around me and consider their loss with equanimity. I look at some of my dishes, and I see a nice tray for cheese and crackers. It belonged to my mother-in-law. I like this tray and use it often, yet I can easily envision donating it to a local charity. Now, I see a special serving tray that belonged to my mother. I rarely use it, but I am unlikely to part with it anytime soon.
There is depth here, layers to my emotional responses. What arises is not about the thing; it is about who that thing represents. It is about how I perceive or continue to experience my relationship with the person behind the thing. How is my clinging and aversion showing up? And how can I move beyond clinging and aversion and view each of these things with equanimity? So many opportunities to practice.
Who knew that when my father gave me this silly little purple and green frog all those years ago, that it would become so much more than a cute little memento? Who or what knew? Kamma knew.
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