zenbox

 How is it that we think we know what we want?  When we get it we are disappointed, almost always.  An object, a feeling, a mindset, we are reaching, striving for this thing, place, idea, whatever it is.  And when it comes within our grasp the joy of it spreads its wings and flies away like a bird to a better perch.  

We stretch, we contend for it, for this... let's just call it the "zenbox."  Be it an object, place, or feeling, we feel if we can achieve it, get it into our hands, then we will be in an accomplished state.  We will have arrived to that place of peace, zen, we will be satiated, satisfied, fulfilled.  And, indeed, there is an electric tingling in the solar plexus when at last we hold the zenbox in our hands.  It is an abbreviated fusillade of that coveted feeling, joy.  But then, it dissipates so rapidly we almost forget it immediately, and all we remember of it are all the moments leading up to that burst of exultance.  

Toiling all week at the steering wheel of an 18-wheeler hauling between 1 and 23 tons, all I can think of is the amount of time I spend away from home in order to be able to afford to have a home to return to-is it worth it?  I know a house does not make a home, etc.  But our spot in this current space/time continuum allows us to exist only in accordance with a level of servitude-that level corresponding directly to the quality of existence we may enjoy-that we must constantly maintain.

My "zenbox" is going home.  I get to be at home between 1 and 3 days a week, sometimes less.  All week I am moving at 70 mph for 11 hours of the day.  All week I am moving goods to customers, from point A to point B.  It is a lack-luster employment.  There is a purpose in it, but it is painfully banal.  I rise, I drive, I eat, I sleep, 4 to 6 times in a week, all the while thinking about the little round table in my breakfast nook, sitting there looking out of the picture window, drinking my coffee in the quiet of the morning, and writing in my journal.  I would be thinking of spending time with my wife, about not being alone in my space.  And in my mind I put all these things in such a place of desire that everything becomes nothing compared to the object, the zenbox.  I cannot wait to be at home, in my home, watching my t.v., sitting in my breakfast nook, opening my refrigerator, coming home to a hot meal my wife has made for me.

I pull down the drive in my car, wondering what all has taken place in my neighborhood in my absence.  I smile at the view of my house with the manicured shrubs and lawn, etc., and I am, in that moment, pleased, grateful, satisfied.  I greet my wife with a kiss.  I smell the home made everything.  I eat the soup.  I watch the t.v.  I write in the book and watch the leaves outside fall into ground cover.  And in that moment...  in that moment...  I see the leaves need to be raked up, the limbs need to be trimmed, the yard machines need to be maintained so that I can work on all this... this... did I say "zenbox?"

My wife starts in with the list of things I need to do while I'm home.  I begin thinking about all the money I'll need to make to accomplish it all.  I will have to work.  I will have to...  I will have to be gone on the road to make this money... on the road, by myself, far away... from these lists...