Hair

Hair is dead skin, like fingernails or claws. It grows about half-inch per month. The realization that hair grows at a discernible rate always puts me in touch with my mortality and my body's automatic changes related to age. I cut my own hair. The harvesting of my hair every so often is part of my practice. Cutting my own hair necessitates looking at myself in mirrors. Something I rarely do. I am forced to note the changes in my body in this process. I meditate on the loss of time and tissue as I sweep up the clippings from the bathroom floor. For me, this is a good exercise in being in touch with the reality of my one life's span.