Death, Antiquing, and Why I Don’t Buy Souveniers

Impermanence has been on my mind lately. There’s a certain freedom that comes with a lack of attachment, but sometimes I want to forget this truth.

I went to an antique show for the first time this past weekend. It was sunny and windy, and I got amazingly sunburned. There was a wide array of stuff — as you might guess — everything from 70s kitsch to ‘ancient’ coins to furniture in various stages of refinishing. The crowning glory of all of this was a medical model for giving birth. As my friend and I walked through the twenty-six aisles of history, we came across more energy-loaded objects. Piles of children’s shoes. Chipped bayonets and spearheads. Finally, a case with hundreds of diamond rings inside.

As I looked at the case, (I love sparkly things, one of my dearest friends calls me Magpie for this reason) I started to feel some kind of resonance off them. These had belonged to someone, once. How many broken marriages — or refused proposals — were sitting under this case? How many had been sold by happy couples, raising money for something greater than themselves? How many had been stolen, or lost, or trickled down from estate sales?

From then on, being in the presence of these precious objects became intensely surreal.

All these antiques, from jewels to dressers to road-signs were plucked from time. They’re imbued with their own stories and history even if they’re valueless otherwise. I can’t participate in collecting the way my friend and the other shoppers can, because I’m averted to souvenirs. I’m afraid of losing them.

Whenever I travel, I don’t keep things for myself. I’ll either leave them for the next person, or give them to my family. All the scrolls I brought back from the monastery are in different states — storing my memories in the safety of my loved ones’ homes. I move around a lot, and I’m concerned anything precious I collect will be lost or destroyed. My brother and sister are rooted, with families of their own; whereas I flit around, digging and exploring.

I can’t become attached to these objects without knowing — to my bones — that they will be destroyed in the fullness of time. I feel as ephemeral as they are, and I know that I too, one day, will be destroyed.

I only keep small things, sentimental things. I brought two stones back from China. One was for a friend by request (a chip of the training ground that Sifu threw at me in good-natured abuse). The other was a piece of stone from the mountaintop.

There had been so much mica on the mountain that the dirt and tree-roots glittered halfway up it. Once we had ascended, I remember looking out and watching the leaves blowing in the wind — rustling so loudly they sounded like waves crashing on a beach. The walkway to the temples are long stretches of stone that look like melted silver. I have a chip of that silver.

I feel so close to the knowledge that everything dies that it sucks the meaning from objects… Except for small things. Sentimental things. I’ll lose a souvenir, but I’ll always remember a scent, or a bit of music.

All of my stories have a character who experiences this. Someone so old, or so deep into the truth that they can’t cope with it. They can’t remember how to be human anymore. I’m grateful for their company, and the warning of what I could become if I’m unable to turn away from death now and then.

I can collect and lose objects. I have befriended, loved, and lost people. My memories of experience endure, like scent, like sight; but I’ve never found a way to capture and store the feeling of bonding with another person. My characters help me understand what it means to be detached — not only for them but for the friends and family they leave behind.

The ability to connect with others is as vital as food and water, to me — and I think it’s why I would never choose enlightenment. I think that’s what keeps us from losing ourselves in the sea of time. The ring is nothing. Attachment is nothing; and yet it is everything.

 

Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death.”
― Miyamoto Musashi

 

Nothing endures but change.
― Heraclitus

 

shoes

 

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5 thoughts on “Death, Antiquing, and Why I Don’t Buy Souveniers

  1. brianbuhl

    “The ability to connect with others is as vital as food and water, to me — and I think it’s why I would never choose enlightenment.”
    I don’t understand this statement. If you have to give up that which sustains you, I don’t believe it is enlightenment. I also don’t see connection and enlightenment as mutually exclusive.
    I suppose I don’t understand what your concept of enlightenment is.

    Reply
  2. www.laurensapala.com

    This is a beautiful post. When I imagined the case of diamond rings I got the shivers. I’m so interested in the psychic ability some people have to pick up on vibes from objects, is that called psychometry? Whatever it is really called, it’s fascinating.

    Reply
  3. REDdog

    I’m not so sure sustaining your connections is the same abandoning your attachments. I choose to reconnect with my Queen on a regular basis but that is exactly what helps me abandon my unhealthy attachments to her. I pursue enlightenment in my marriage by pursuing what appears to be the very definition of an oxymoron…I’m complicated like that.

    Reply
    1. Setsu Post author

      I must have written that poorly. Sustaining one’s connections is attachment. Enlightenment comes from being free of attachment.

      Therefore if I still care about people and objects, I am attached.

      Reply

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