It’s not until things are broken…

…that you realise what they mean to you. The wonky window just blew out and smashed off one ear and one foot of my wombat.

I could blame the landlord for never getting around to fixing the wonky window.

I can blame myself for putting the wombat there on the window sill next to Ganesha (who, being more wise, escaped harm). All things considered, it was a stupid place.

I could blame my attachment to material things that the Buddha would tell me is the source of all misery.

I am sweeping up the pieces.

6 thoughts on “It’s not until things are broken…

  1. Oh, that sucks! (you know about my Wombat connection, right?)I know exactly what you mean. I managed to break a cup that I love in the stupidest way a few months back, and yeah, I know I shouldn't be attached to a cup…but I am.

  2. Well, the Buddha sat beneath a tree till his fur and the bark were one. This demonstrates an unnatural attachment to a single tree, now, doesn't it?Souvenirs are such for a reason…the are landmark equivalents of our past. Sorry your wombat is now slightly disabled…hope it doesn't quite make you too miserable, to contemplate it now. (And I'd ask the wombat if Ganesh didn't actually push it, but I'm a suspicious sort…).

  3. Yes, I know about that kind of attachment as well. My only excuse is that without my books, I wouldn't know as much as I do today. (And I still know so very little…..) (Sigh!)

  4. Pshaw — you know plenty, Jack. You're just modest and, like most intelligent people, all too aware of what you don't know. Of course, that's what makes learning fun.

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