When [a woman] complained of the stinginess of her husband, Rumi told her a story of a rich man so miserly he wouldn’t open his door for fear the hinges would wear out.*
Ha ha — until I realize that I, too, worry about giving too much (love, time, stuff) lest I won’t have enough (for me, just in case, you never know).
O dear.
Commentary: Like a bird that flew against the window pane: retrieved and sheltered in my hand, it soon flies away.
Question: Is anything ever mine to hold onto? If so, name it.
*Brad Gooch. (2017). Rumi’s secret: The life of the Sufi poet of love. p. 238.
Good question. The answer may be found in the Buddha’s teaching of the Five Remembrances:
I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.
I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.
There is no way to escape being separated from them.
My actions are my only true belongings.
I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.
My actions are the ground upon which I stand.
Thank you Peter; thank you Daishin.