Enough

 

7:51 pm, May 30, 2026

8:45 pm, May 14

8:47 pm, May 14

Evenings and water. Datura that bloom for the moon. Petals twisting. The love of a pit viper for itself, for its young, for spaces even away from the water like this one in the woods. 

When I consider such things, I cannot help but hang on the idea that these are meaningful. And a life full of meaningful things is enough. Don't let me ask for a Meaning to life. Don't let me perseverate on Purpose. 

The feeling that This is enough is another way of saying Happiness. Or Gratefulness. Wellbeing.  It's the humility to want no more. The wisdom to quit. The strength to keep going because Enough is hope for today.

When all those who were my Beloved die and my grief does not know what to do with the happiness we once had, I can rest--as they rest in peace--knowing that their goodness, their life, our time together was enough. If I can feel it, then I can live in a boundless happiness. Enough knows no boundaries. But I keep forgetting this.

Right now it's about bedtime. I sit by the garden fence and listen to insects and owls through the hot night air. A tomato plant holds up its tender green branches in this still night. I could almost cry it is so sweet, so meek, so brave, so alive, so involved in doing the One thing and not more. What this living plant does for itself is enough. If it were anything else, it would not be a tender green plant still, in the dark. And what I share of it--this is Enough if I am really present in the I-Thou relationship between it and me.

All the wisdom traditions gesture in their folly toward what is Enough. The Stoics and the Epicurians and Thoreau and Jesus and the monastic Hindus, Buddhists, and Trappists. The whirling Sufi needs nothing but the dizziness of his love for the Beloved. The Taoists especially know what is Enough in the uncarved block. They might remind us that anything more than Enough throws us out of balance.

Cease craving.

Be still and know that I am God, he said.

I shall not want.

Enough.

"Enough of This"

some say Meaning is so big so golden

almost out of reach

others say there is none and all is dark

I say there is enough of this

just as I do not depend upon you

I need you as we love anything we love

no more justifications

no waiting for ends to give us our reasons

this morning’s kingfisher rising out of the creek or

the meadow of white stones 

after last summer’s flood or

the tall grasses holding sunlight

as we do when we stop and close our eyes

each we love and

each is itself the object of a moment of ours

meaningful without excuse or end

we and the kingfishers soon will die but

that is tomorrow and

tomorrow cannot be the reason for today

for this morning’s tall grasses

for this love for you

just as no measurement can find

the meaning for us of stones or the tall grasses

so with our love and any single meaningful thing

what, the smooth riverstone is not a mountain?

what, a bird is not a god?

what, our love is not more than it is?

you standing there brushing your teeth after a bath

me in the next room watching

you brush your teeth after a bath

the kingfisher rising out of waters

stones grass this morning

when we stop and close our eyes

it is enough

our finite size and time is enough

all the meaning we find or create is enough

love