From the stormy waves of being born, growing old, sickness and dying, from the ocean of suffering may I free all beings.
Why do we fear wrinkles? I’m 36, and have a few now. Whenever I give a shiite, which thankfully isn’t often, I think of Steve McQueen, looking handsomer as he grew older:
Why do we dye our hair? Why do we fear balding?
Vanity, of course. But what is vanity, and what purpose does it serve?
On the positive end, vanity (as well as a tight back) is what keeps me exercising—climbing, or going to yoga, and bicycling to and fro meetings and meals.
On the negative end, we seem to wrap our self-esteem up with our youthful looks. Why do we think young people look better? I know plenty of beautiful old people. I don’t fear death—I fear living a life that doesn’t add up to anything.
Many Buddhists say this after every meal, or meditation session, or meeting:
By this merit may all attain peace, may it defeat the enemy: wrongdoing.
From the stormy waves of being born, growing old, sickness and dying
Grom the ocean of suffering may I free all beings.
It’s a nice thing to keep in mind: no one gets out of life, alive. Live for the benefit of others. Put down the moisturizer: sit down on the meditation cushion, and dedicate yourself to a wonderful world in terrible need.
Who do you know, or know of, who grew or has grown more beautiful with age?
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