Is happy a feeling that visits often?
I heard from Sayuri recently and she cites that "happy" was a feeling that has started to visit her often. She also comments about the welcoming burst of spring being uplifting as it brought remembrances of comfort felt long ago.
As for myself, I welcome this spring only in a partial way. While the world around me is coming alive, I'm not fully engaged. I continuously feel as though I've forgotten something important--but as I leaf through my mind there's never a trace of that forgotten item--just a trace remembrance of something past. Similarly, my taste buds seem to also have taken a temporary hiatus. As for my vision, colors which surround me aren't quite as brilliant as if there's a layer of frost on my eyes. The exception are the flowers blooming just outside the kitchen window. For some reason the radiant color of these simple flowers embrace me and also captures my complete attention and focus.
Hara hachi-bun me. Literal translation: stomach eight-tenths full or consuming to the point where you're just about full leaving you wanting more. It's a common Japanese saying with Chinese equivalents and I’m sure among numerous other cultures.
I was thinking about "hachi-bun me" the other day as I happened to catch it in a Japanese movie. It stuck with me and I started to think whether it applied to all things in life. Is it indeed possible to attain 100%--say in terms of happiness? Or is the feeling of just enough and wanting more, be where you want to leave things?
I'm not certain. And I'm not sure if it's something I wish to ponder extensively as makes my head ache. It's bad enough that my ability to concentrate is at an all time low—these cosmic wonderings are beyond what I can handle.
But what made be smile to myself was the play on words which sprang into my mind. If you substitute "Hara" [stomach] with "Haru" which is Spring, it becomes "Haru hachi-bun me."
It seemed like an apt phrase for how I felt. It hasn't been a totally fulfilling spring, but perhaps I should be pushing myself away from the table feeling that what I’m feeling is fine and I shouldn’t keep wanting more. Maybe that’s when I’ll stop feeling that I'm forgetting to do something. And in the end, instead of trying to effect things, I should just be content with where I am and let things be as it may. And if it were meant to be, it’ll somehow happen.
Somehow a warmer feeling of embrace presented itself as I thought about my Hachi-bun me no haru. My spring of eight-tenths, in the 49th year of my life.
