Also!

Because Rainbow’s customers were helped to feel safe and relaxed, there was much less evidence of panic buying, though admittedly also many fewer customers to observe. I saw just one cart piled with a mountain of food, where the previous frenzied week, many carts had been like that. I saw one fellow carefully place about three cassoulet beans into a tiny paper bag, and hoped it wasn’t because that’s all he could afford.

After I returned from Rainbow, I spent the rest of the afternoon chopping vegetables and listening to music. As the sky darkened, I felt a bit of fear, reminiscent of the night before, but it was soon washed away by sorrow, which was very welcome, particularly in contrast with the fear. There were many tears.

My working belief regarding what happens when we die is that the little allotment of consciousness somehow assigned to a particular body, personality and set of habits dissipates into a universal consciousness. I don’t believe that anything is created when a living being is born, nor destroyed when it dies. I think there is what there is, reconfigured over and over.

However, the moment Hammett died, this belief about the end of life suddenly seemed wholly unsatisfactory. I thought about theology, or dharmalogy, a bit: Is the point of one’s dharmalogy to afford comfort, or is the point that it is true? I think the most important thing is the latter, which of course is the part we can never know, at least as regards what happens after death. I wish I could believe that Hammett is sitting on the lap of a kindly grandmother in heaven, but I cannot. I cannot comprehend the mystery of life and death, but as I remind myself to have as many mindful moments as possible, I feel that this—at the moment, the death of Hammett—is workable. I feel peaceful at many moments. I remember that nothing has gone wrong.

As Fleet Maull said at school a year and half ago, “The more mindfulness practices we can do, the better, because our conceptual mind is continually working to replace our actual experience with concepts.”

Also: “To the extent we’re able to relax into the present moment, things are pretty simple and joy is pretty accessible.”

Also that when we practice (mindfulness) in the presence of another person, that person is also practicing, because we are connected.

(Also: “Let’s have one person talking at a time, which at the moment would be me.”)

I won’t bore you with the details, but I bumped into a problem with my beloved Logitech Squeezebox Boom, and after searching the web and doing various resets and tinkering with various settings, got it working again, which was profoundly satisfying.

Thinking about Hammett at moments when he was enjoying something has brought pleasure, and it has also helped to reflect on how great his life was. He was fostered during his first six months by someone who must have done a great job, because he came to me a sweet, relaxed kitten who did not mind being cradled like a baby, on his back. I imagine he was often lonely when I was away, particularly in these past two years when I had to go to school 26 days per year, in addition to the trips I usually take, and he had quite a number of health problems, all manageable until he got renal lymphoma. Those were the hard parts.

But every possible need was met, and he was treated with affection and care every day of his life with me, including when I was away, because of his excellent cat sitter. He had lots of comfortable places to nap, and I think that he really enjoyed his life, on the whole. Reflecting on these things does bring some peace of mind, as does the recent reminder from one of my peers from school that all things are subject to dispersal.