Free The Beginner's Guide to Living by Lia Hills Page A

news. On the screen are scuttling images of men in camouflage and UN tanks. His head’s tilted to the side as he watches, like Mom always did. She gave birth to us; we are the only two living creatures on this planet who can say that. We are united by her blood. Despite our age difference, he’s always been a different kind of presence from Mom or Dad. But since he’s been home, it’s as if he’s hovering somewhere in between—three generations living in this house of males.
    A woman is holding her head and screaming at a pile of dust. The reporter, microphone in hand, leans into the camera and says it used to be her son and I have a sudden need to throw my arms around Adam and squeeze him hard, wring him until the mockery has oozed out of him and in its place there is only a quiet, honest response. To death. To love. To blood.
    Adam grabs the remote and the TV goes dark.

KISS THE JOY AS IT FLIES
    I KNOW NOTHING about Eastern philosophy, except that Buddha was a fat guy with a big grin. The book Samara gave me has words in it like karma and bardos and samsara , but I notice one thing straight off—the word love . In this book, everything has something to do with love. The man who wrote it, Sogyal Rinpoche, is a Buddhist master and was brought up by monks. They escaped from Tibet, went over the Himalayas into India. He’s got a lot to say about death: When I first came to the West … I learned that people today are taught to deny death, and taught that it means nothing but annihilation and loss … many people believe that simply mentioning death is to risk wishing it upon themselves.
    According to Sogyal Rinpoche, we love being busy so we don’t have to think about our own mortality, about what’s important, even what makes us happy. He calls it active laziness , which reminds me of what Seneca said about wasting your life.
    The house is quiet. Saturday morning, everyone’s sleeping in. I look at the pile on my bedside table—Seneca’s book’s still there, below a dictionary of philosophy I borrowed. The dictionary doesn’t have a section on dying, or love.
    I take another look at Rinpoche’s book. Modern society seems to me a celebration of all the things that lead away from the truth . I pick up my notebook:
    11. What if I don’t have the ability to recognize the truth?
    Dad’s in the laundry room, slouched against the washing machine. There’s a mass of dirty clothes on the floor like a pile of dismembered limbs. I’ve come in to find some socks—we haven’t quite got a handle on the washing thing yet. I squat down to pick through the pile, which is starting to fester.
    â€œYou all right, Dad?”
    â€œWe’ve run out of laundry detergent.”
    I point to the broom closet. “I think Mom kept it in there.”
    â€œI’ve tried to find it.”
    â€œDo you want me to have a look?”
    He sounds annoyed. “No, I mean, in the shops. I’ve been to three supermarkets, none of them have it.”
    â€œReally?”
    These two socks are close enough, nearly the same black. I pull them on but they don’t smell so good. Lucky I’m not seeing Taryn today.
    â€œI guess we’ll have to change brands then,” I say.
    â€œNo, we can’t.”
    â€œWhat?”
    I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t, his forehead huddling down around his eyes. “If we use another detergent, we’ll smell different.”
    *   *   *
    I look the detergent up on the Internet and find a supplier. It’s some special biodegradable stuff. I order two boxes of it with Dad’s credit card.
----
    The key to finding a happy balance in modern lives is simplicity.
    Â 
    Sogyal Rinpoche
----
    Maybe we should dump the computers and go live in a tent in the bush.
    T ♥
----
    When do we leave?
----
    â€œYou serious?” Taryn asks, wrapping herself around me as we