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  • Writer's pictureSona Parmar

The Cup

This morning, my youngest (age 6), came into my room with all her toys. I hugged them all first, before greeting her with a big, squeezy hug.

As I walked over to close the window in my room, she followed me like a tail. She noticed her broken bamboo cup on the window seat. It needed to be superglued.

“Mummy, we’ve glued it so many times. Even if we glue it again, it will break.”

“We could fix it again, and use it outside to water my tomato plants but, even then it would leak.”

“Let’s just throw it away.”

There was no emotional attachment to the cup, no concern about how much had already been invested in it, or how it had unicorns on it.

It was very clear to her: to do what was necessary, without emotion, because, the answer was obvious. Why would you even bring emotion into it?

Why don’t we throw things away so easily? Why do we keep investing in things that don’t work?

If we have the capacity to let go of our conditioning, and our memories about something, about how we imagine things should be, we start to develop a certain clarity and discernment. We start to see things as they are, rather than seeing things as we are.

We clear the shelf for a new cup to come in, one with a matching plate and bowl perhaps. Maybe we see that the requirement now is actually for a copper cup, say, with its various health benefits, or even big mug, for a frothy hot chocolate.

Or maybe all we need is another cup - one that works, one that does what it’s meant to, and one whose design brings tremendous joy every time you see it.

But first you need to throw the old one away - not to make the decision to throw it away, but actually throw it away, deep into the rubbish bin that sits outside - not into an upstairs bin where, who knows, it may be noticed and retrieved when the bins are emptied.

So throw the cup away - because how you do anything is how you do everything.

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