From the moment we awaken within these bodies as newborn babies, the life we experience within and around us is constantly changing, in as much as we are the very thing itself that is changing. We often view our bodies, the thoughts happening within them, and the experiences we encounter as being separate from the universe when the reality remains that we are life itself in as much as a cloud, a tree, and the sun and moon are. While we may not always be conscious of this with remembrance, it is so. We remain sustained by the world around us as we sustain the world equally. This moment is the only real moment where we can touch reality. This moment, here and now, contains the whole of what is. In as much as we are an individual component of the present moment, we are also the present moment itself. Life is but a mirror reflecting itself always. We are the present moment experiencing itself. Often, we seek to find ourselves when there is no self at all.

Any experience we hope to have must be created by us, for us. We create ourselves every day. Each moment is a blank canvas for us to do as we wish. We can listen to one another, sustaining a space of compassion, investigation, and harmony, or we can remain trapped by the walls we continually build up, only to wonder at the beauty of letting someone in. Alan Watts said, “The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves." Far too often, we spend our precious time analyzing our experiences rather than being with them together, listening to what is there for us to understand and discover within them. Then, before we can deeply appreciate them just as they are, everything has changed. Suddenly, we are older, and the ones we love are older, too. When we look around, maybe even a few have seemingly disappeared. We discover that nothing ever disappears when touching reality with our minds and bodies. It may be challenging to find, but it is here. Ultimately, there is nowhere new to go and nothing new to achieve. 

Still, with each breath, we all draw nearer to death, no matter how young we may be. Rarely are our minds and bodies well rested. Moment by moment, we rush around, looking at what might be best for survival. We can see this anywhere with anyone, regardless of cultural background and financial situation. The truth is, we cannot survive, and as terrifying as that may seem, the impermanence of all things is a beautiful act of grace itself. We all have difficulty letting go of our attachments, thus creating mental and emotional barriers between ourselves and the day as it is here and now. We often cling to the memories of individuals, how we knew them to be, the experiences we shared, and the places we can no longer visit. We may also ache to be who we once were, denying the natural rhythm of growth and aging.

I love the analogy of someone hanging over a cliff with their hands raw and bleeding from the rope they have been clinging to. The rope, of course, is the past. “If I let go, I will surely fall, and then I will die,” they are thinking, not noticing the damage the rope is causing. Eventually, the pain becomes too much to bear. As they let go, they begin to soar like a beautiful bird high above the clouds, gaining a new perspective and fuller understanding. We can find freedom only through nonattachment. When we cling to wanting, attachment, fear, or aversion, we remain lost in thoughts of the past and future. Suffering is rope burn. Freedom from suffering is letting go. Bankei, a seventeenth-century Japanese Zen teacher said, “Don’t side with yourself.”

In other words, we should not cling to one thing as ‘I’ or ‘mine.’ Yet, when we have difficulty letting go, we can rest assured, knowing it will happen eventually. After all, change is inevitable. Death comes to us all. The universe remains whole through it all, never broken or needing healing. All things happen within and because of this, yet it remains unchanged, beyond all movement. It is here in each moment, yet it can only be known by which it is not. It is the great mystery, the final gate of which any “self” can pass. Through this gate, we will see that all is where it is, just as it should be, to accomplish what is, as though it were an act of divine will. Today is the fulfillment of yesterday’s efforts. Tomorrow is the seed of today’s practices in full bloom. How we arrived at this moment remains unknown to us all, yet it is only here and now where we find eternity.

Still, we cling to our ideas of how we prefer it to be, knowing change is inevitable. Change is the grace of the present moment that helps us to let go. Sometimes, this letting go occurs so gradually that we do not recognize it as happening unless we remain keenly aware. How often have we said, “Wow, the year is half over!” Then, there are moments when what we desire is stolen from us instantly. We must inquire: how can that, which is not ours, be stolen from us? When we observe these changes, we can discover from where they arose and where they have returned. Only then can we see it as it is — no coming, no going, no birth, no death, no fear. 

I find great comfort in this grace, however fierce it may be. By this grace, I awaken each day with the unwavering courage to smile with gratitude. This grace is gratitude itself, in as much as it is what I am thankful for. I am grateful for what is, no matter what it may be. This grace will be with me when I die, just as it is here when I live. This grace is life and death, and I know nothing more about it. However, I know I am happiest when saying, “Thank you!” This grace is the experience and presence of love. Love has gifted us with each experience and is gifting us new experiences in each new moment. For new understanding to arise, there must be new experiences. For new experiences to manifest, there must be a cessation, or rather, an evolution of all previous experiences. Nothing remains unchanged. All is dependent on everything else. The reality is that life and death occur within each moment. This one eternal moment is unaffected. When we move beyond our ideas of how we prefer it to be, we will know the reality of our nature and discover that we, too, are not subject to birth and death, as we are not beings separate from the reality that is, however individual our experiences may be. 

How can we see things as they are when our minds are full of ideas about how we want them to be? Equally, how can new experiences arise if not through the changes manifesting them? If we are looking for a teacher, it is here. It has always been here. Its message is available to us all equally. The message is that everything is temporary, yet all is interconnected. All of this is happening within and because of one unmoving reality. We are this reality. You are the infinite focused in a body. You may see only the body. If you seek earnestly, you will only come to see the infinite!

Change can be terrifying. As we learn to accept what is and work with the changes we encounter rather than fight against them, as if it were a problem to be solved, we can discover the message it has for us more quickly. The deeper we listen, the more we can respond appropriately, helping cultivate healing and acceptance for ourselves and others. While each of us experiences suffering, I don’t claim to understand how you feel now. I can, however, share my experiences in hopes that we can find some common ground where we might feel comfortable sharing vulnerable conversations. Sharing can help us discover that we are not alone in desiring understanding. Together, we can cultivate peace and hope we never imagined possible as we continue to navigate life’s terrifying changes.

Here I am. It is currently August 2024. In the last eight years of my life, I have lost more than I ever imagined I would have. At 41, I have tinnitus, which manifests as a high-pitched ringing in both of my ears that never subsides. I also have hearing loss. I often rely on hearing aids for tinnitus relief and hearing assistance. I first noticed my tinnitus on the morning of 4 April 2016. I had just gotten out of bed to prepare for a visit to the eye doctor for a casual check-up. Unless something should happen to my mind, I can promise you this: I’ll never forget that day. I had just released my most successful musical work in November of the previous year — a solo album in which I had written every song and performed all instruments except the drums. I had been writing songs all my life. I’m not joking. Within a box in my apartment’s closet are papers with handwritten lyrics, song structures, and chord changes notated in ways unique to my seven or eight-year-old understanding. There are cassette tapes, too, of my playing the piano and learning the guitar. In the seventh grade, I formed my first band. Writing, recording, and performing music were the things I knew I could trust always to nurture my fears with perfect love when all else wanted me to change to fit their narrative of how I should act to be successful and happy. When life became too difficult to navigate, I would sit behind a piano for hours without thought and be in communion with the unknown.

I didn’t know how it was happening, nor did I care. I would rest in the bliss, magic, and wonder of what is. What was in that moment were my fingers moving through no power of their own, crafting, like God itself, melodies and chord changes that my untrained mind could ever comprehend. Sure, the more often I played, the easier it became to connect with the spirit, and the more I communed with it, the more I learned how to harness its prowess into songs. Still, I sat empty and open each time, amazed at what was happening. To me, writing music had become life-saving meditation. Immediately, the morning of my eye doctor’s appointment, the universe was speaking to me through tinnitus, saying that I might have to let go of music in the hopes of sustaining what physical health my ears had left. The truth is, among musicians, this condition is not uncommon; however, not much is said publicly about these experiences. I’d love to see that change! Raising awareness can help others prevent future suffering. 

I immediately visited a hearing specialist. I was told what I had expected to hear yet feared most of all: “There is no cure” — and, rather bluntly, while being spoken with great care and kindness — “You’ll get used to it; you have no other option.” While I immediately canceled all future live performances, letting go entirely wasn’t something I was yet capable of doing. Aching for creative stimulation and for something to distract me from the extreme stress and anxiety tinnitus was causing, I would still work in the recording studio, which unfortunately caused further damage. I often fought with fierce depression, bitterness, and resentment, seeing others do what I could no longer but want to. While I have habituated to this condition and the emotional and mental hang-ups that can come with it, if I am to be honest, this is still something that arises from time to time. Not only was I fighting this dangerously violent depression and anger, but I had also become terrified that my condition could get worse at any moment. I still worry about this fear and must live carefully and cautiously to prevent further damage. Where I go and where I do not is carefully chosen with my condition in mind. Communicating this to others can be difficult. The fact remains that not everyone is interested in listening or remembering. After all, how could anyone understand when they are not experiencing this themselves? Still, I am choosing to share, no matter how painful this discussion may be. I am sharing so that someone going through similar experiences can discover that healing is possible. Is there someone, and will they read this? I don’t know or have to know to remain vulnerable. Perhaps there is someone who wants to share about their unique experiences, hoping someone will listen. I suppose I am that person. I think we all are. We have the power to speak and to listen!

While navigating relationships as an autistic individual already makes communication and connection a struggle, living with tinnitus further complicates this. While life with tinnitus is still a battle, I have habituated in many ways. That didn’t happen overnight, however. Upon its invasive arrival, anxiety and bitterness changed much of my otherwise joyous and effervescence demeanor. These changes affected not only my well-being but also the well-being of those around me. In the spring of 2019, my wife chose to leave our relationship. When she left, so did the communion I shared with her family, all of whom I loved dearly. No longer was I the beloved uncle, trusted son-in-law, and cherished partner and friend. Immediately, I had a new fear — navigating the future with tinnitus alone. The truth was, once again, I had no choice. As quickly as silence had left my life four years earlier, so had the relationship I had cherished for nearly ten years.​