A letter to my lupus...
You and I have been living together for a year and a half now. You've become an unwanted guest, but I have to learn to live with you.
I've been reading a book on Buddhism A lot of it reminds me of you. Especially the part where they talk about how for most people it takes a terrible illness or disaster to “shake them awake” and remind them of their mortality, that it could happen any second, and that they need to start truly living their life again.
|Tripitaka Koreana stored at Haeinsa (해인사, Temple of Reflection on a Smooth Sea) is one of the foremost Chogye Buddhist temples in South Korea. It is most notable for being the home of the Tripitaka Koreana, the whole of the Buddhist Scriptures carved onto 81,258 wooden printing blocks, which it has housed since 1398. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)|
You were that wake-up call for me. I still live like I’ll live forever, sometimes. I still tend to live for money and I focus on saving money up to do things, but I must remind myself that all the saving I've done is useless if I die tomorrow. This isn’t being morbid; it’s working on appreciating life. I think it helps that I have a new camera. By carrying the camera, I'm forced to look at everything in a new light. I see that everything has the possibility to be beautiful and it helps me see everything around me. The things I might have ignored or forgotten about are a new source of interest. I watch people now, watching how they move, how they walk and talk, how they interact with others.
As grateful as I am for this reminder to live like I'm running out of time, you are an unwelcome houseguest. Go away. Or are you waiting for me to really live? Is that my only way to get rid of you? Because if that’s all it takes, pack your bags up. And good riddance.