Harmony Hammond
Site Santa Fe | 1606 Paseo de Peralta, Santa Fe, NM
Through May 19
A slanted rectangle of desert sunlight slid into the whitewashed room through a side window, illuminating a mason jar full of white tulips on a low, makeshift table. In the corner fireplace, piñon was burning, releasing its warm, slightly sweet fragrance. The early morning was quiet and still, save the soft crackling of the fire and the softer sound of my partner on the couch beside me, writing intently in a notebook. The air felt slightly chilled, making the radiating waves of heat all the more pleasurable. Taking a sip of coffee, I had a thought that I’m grateful for whenever it arises: This is a perfect moment of life on Earth.
I opened the book I’d been reading, a collection of early Buddhist texts. After his awakening, Buddha points out to his disciples the dire mistake of people who are “infatuated,” who are “utterly committed,” to the sensuous beauty of the phenomenal world; how their—that is, our—senses are cords that bind. They tie us like a fawn caught in snares, he says, rendering us helpless in the forest. “He has met with calamity, met with disaster, the hunter can do with him as he likes, and when the hunter comes he cannot go where he wants.” I looked up from the book to again survey the beautiful moment and found every element just as perfect as before. FUCK!, I thought, I’m not getting out of this!
