Summit Wellness: Gratitude - "A Fence Can't Stop It"

By Matt Anthony - Summit FM Digital Media Specialist

Hey, angel, come and play
And fly me away
A stroll along the beach
Until you're out of time

• “Sugar Kane” – Sonic Youth

We pulled. We tugged. We rocked the posts back and forth. It was miserably difficult, back-breaking work. Especially for two guys well into ‘AARP-stuff-in-the-mail’ status, but the goal was simple and direct: this fence, comprised of almost a dozen six-foot sections of white plastic-composite, was scheduled to come out of the ground, one way or the other.

Donna’s mother had it installed at some point in the 80’s. But nature had exacted its toll. Two of the sections were almost on the ground after wind-storms, and longevity had detracted from its overall appearance, probably years ago.

It was time.

But this unattractive barrier wasn’t going without a fight. Which is why my brother-in-law (and Rush devotee), Michael, decided to go into the deep recesses of his Subaru and drag out the saw. I stood back and watched the master at work, applying Neil Peart-like precision on every angle of post that dared show its face. Soon after, what was once in existence was now just a pile of debris waiting to be hauled away. And after that? A memory.

The impermanence of this life can be beautiful and unforgiving. It can also induce suffering. We take it for granted that everything will last forever. We want it to last forever. We need it to last forever. And when we are forced to come to the realization that things have a shelf-life…our cars, our fences, ourselves…we invariably veer into panic-mode, trying to find, in some cases, the most elaborate way to keep the ‘present’ humming along, to keep the ‘current’ in its pristine state. But as John Houseman so eloquently put it in the 1973 film ‘The Paper Chase:’ “This is a total delusion on your part.”

All things must pass
None of life's strings can last
So I must be on my way
And face another day.

• “All Things Must Pass” – George Harrison

No, I will not weep over an ugly fence. However, I have wept at the impermanence of this existence, and will probably continue to do so.  And while I have no enlightened answer for any of it, I do find myself in the throes of grasping, clutching briefly at threads of gratitude for the things that were.

A little over two years ago, Donna’s beloved West Highland Terrier, Izzy, arrived at the same spot as this fence: weathered, dishevelled, and leaning in another direction. In a similar fashion, decisions had to be made. Since then, we have grasped on to the memory of Izzy in the form of stories, keeping his favorite cushion nudged up against the wall in the living room where he liked to sit, and occasionally dropping a Tostito on to it, since his passion was following me around with a bag of them.

Earlier in the year, I even bought Donna a small stuffed-animal replica that could sit next to her in the evening. While it helps stir up both memories, and my gratitude-level, I’m struck, also, by the stark slap in the noggin: nothing can stop this transient nature of the present moment. Being thankful for it, in real time, without illusion, is as hard as, well, as hard as a Neil Peart drum solo. Or as difficult as pulling posts out of the ground that have been there since the 1980’s.

I’m now waiting for someone to come by to haul this debris away. I’m also spending the time focusing on how to better come to grips with the perishable nature of this magical, mystical, and sometimes maniacal thing we call ‘life.’ And, as challenging as it is sometimes, I’m doing my best to try to realize my gratefulness for it.