Following the teaching I received from Phra Arjan Daeng, I began to try and incorporate his advice for practice into my contemplations. What follows is a homework contemplation about my Green Purse which I turned in to Phra Arjan Daeng upon our next meeting several weeks after his initial instruction.   

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 The Story : I had been on the prowl for a new purse for a few weeks, I wanted something bright, in a neutral color, big enough to fit my gym clothes, cross body to help spare my shoulder and soft sided so it didn’t hurt when I walked. I went into Wilks Bashford one day with Eric and saw a great bag, a neon green Reed Krakoff purse. Though I liked it, it was pricy. I was on the fence about it until a sales person came over and started being a real bitch  to me; in my mind anyway, she was all acting like I didn’t belong in the store, not fancy or rich enough. So, I bought the bag, in part because I liked it, in part to prove to that sales person I belonged. Either way, years of obsession over the Reed Krakoff Neon Green Purse were born that day. 

 The more I wore the bag, the more compliments I got on it and quickly it went from being ‘a’ purse to my ‘signature’ purse. A single object to reflect my awesome fabulousness and fashion sense.  

 Eric and I went to Hawaii and of course I brought the purse, there is a series of pictures he took of me way out on the rocks, you can’t see my face, you can barely make-out the shape of my body, but the neon green purse was perfectly clear. Eric said when he saw the pics he thought of me, Alana with the green bag, always recognizable from even a mile away.  

 On that trip though, I noticed the bag had started to ware from daily use, the strap was getting nicks, the leather flaking in spots. I decided I needed a new bag, fresh and clean, and I returned to Wilkes Bashford when I got ack to San Fran. The problem: New season, new collection, no more Neon Green Reed Krakoff Bags. I was devastated and panicked, I went home and started trolling ebay, the real real, every fashion site I could find for some old stock or preowned Reed Krokoff Neon Green bags. 

 The Permanence that Created the Problem: I thought an object, the bag, could represent me, it could make me beautiful and fashionable and, above all else, recognizable – special—to my husband. In my mind that bag became a fixed object to create a fixed identity. But the bag, it wasn’t fixed. As it wore down, its color fading, it shape becoming more frumpy, it showed its true nature (changeable, subject to decay) like an affront to my imagination and hopes. But I am in control, so off to the store I went for a new bag, only to again have the impermanence of it thrown in my face — out of stock. And so, the real suffering began… 

 The Suffering: I needed to persevere, I needed to preserve the image I had built, I stressed and then I ‘problem solved’, spending hours combing the web for every look alike bag I could find. I started each morning with an ebay search, ended each day the same way. When a bag would come-up, I would buy it and before long I had 4-5 ‘back-up’ bags, all the same Neon Green Reed Krakoff Purse. I was prepared to fight impermanence!  

 The Twist: Before I had even made it through my 1st “back-up bag” I tore the cartilage that stabilizes the joint in my left hip and carrying such a big, bulky bag became painful. I ended-up needing to get a new, smaller purse (still green though, so Eric could recognize me) and the pile of back-up bags went from being precious commodities to junk for the give away pile.  

 The Lie: At the time, I didn’t think much of this change of events. I smoothed it over in my mind, pretended that I was in control of the whole thing, I chose a new bag, a new look, something more comfortable perhaps, but it was no big deal, it wasn’t a glaring sign of the truth… 

 The Truth: This whole saga started with a broken bag and ended with a broken body, the only characteristic that endured, was impermanence. Whether I ignore it, smooth it over, pretend its other wise or not, bags break, bodies break and mine is no exception, my bag and my body are both beyond my ability to control or to preserve.  

Some arbitrary object, a bag, became mine in my head, my memory, my imagination made it so. I think I can take this mine thing and use it to make me a thing too, a beauty, a fashion icon, a beloved to my husband. I ignored that the bag doesn’t give a damn about me, but my obsession with it drives me.  I need to care for it, to preserve, to replace it, I fret when it decays. And when I break, when I literally can not bear the bag anymore, I tell myself new lies, buy new objects to sell those lies and reinforce my imagination of control. Like a child in a scary situation – I close my eyes and pretend that I’m safe from impermanence.