Ownership is a game we play.
And like any other game, a glance outside of the game board breaks the illusion’s grasp on us. Consciousness of our own deaths reveal ownership as what is is; the fleeting and largely arbitrary positions of objects in the world we have conceptualized.
When looked at any scale besides that of a projected human lifetime (funny how we always project our own so far out!) the idea of possession, and the necessary ego identification it requires, is ridiculous.
The mansion is to the millionaire what the electron is to the atom.
It will not be held long. Soon it will vanish, on to another position. And even stranger; at a closer level of analysis, can the mansion be said to exist? Can the electron?
But to reject all objets and live as a hermit is far too easy a way out. That is merely trading one identity for another. More than likely, the hermits lack of objects will be clung to and identified with to the same degree as the mansion.
So what then? What do we have to do?
To live our lives with awareness that ownership is only a game. The objects around us have nothing to do with who we are. Here today, gone tomorrow. To lend out even an ounce of your soul in identification with an object is to cheapen your being, and devalue your life.
For what will you be when the possessions go away?
What will your possessions be once you’re gone?
Atoms sitting in empty rooms, I suppose. Not even there when no one’s looking.
And as for you; who knows?
But you will not be here, on this plane, in any condition to own things.
Not that you ever were.
Ownership is an illusion. A game.
Feel free to play. Enjoy without expecting victory. Because death waits at the end to collect all points, all trophies. Everything turns to dust.
But you can smile, if you knew all along that they were dust to begin with.