To remember non-attachment is to remember what freedom is all

Host: The night hung heavy over the rooftop café, where the city lights shimmered like distant lanterns lost in a misty ocean. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and espresso. Below, the streets murmured with the restless sound of traffic — a heartbeat of movement that never truly stopped. Jack sat by the edge, his cigarette glowing like a tiny ember against the darkness, while Jeeny sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

The sky above them was an open canvas of muted gray, and between them — silence — a silence thick with something unspoken.

Jeeny’s eyes lifted first, soft yet burning. “You know, Sharon Salzberg once said — ‘To remember non-attachment is to remember what freedom is all about… If we get attached, even to a beautiful state of being, we are caught, and ultimately we will suffer.’”

Jack smirked faintly, his eyes flickering in the light. “That sounds like a monk’s way of escaping life, Jeeny. ‘Non-attachment’ — fancy word for running away from what hurts.”

Host: The wind brushed across the table, flickering the candle between them, throwing their faces in and out of shadow. Jeeny’s hair caught the breeze, black strands glinting like liquid silk.

Jeeny: “It’s not running, Jack. It’s freedom. There’s a difference between letting go and giving up. You don’t cling to what you love; you experience it, honor it, and when the time comes, you release it.”

Jack: “You make it sound so easy. But tell me, Jeeny — what’s a life without attachment? Without love, without ambition, without loss? Those are the things that make us human. You can’t observe life like it’s a passing cloud and still call it living.”

Jeeny: “You mistake attachment for connection. I can love deeply without clinging. I can care without trying to own. Attachment breeds fear — fear of losing, fear of change, fear of impermanence. That fear is what chains us.”

Jack: “And yet it’s that very fear that pushes us to create, to fight, to build. Look at Van Gogh, Jeeny — his attachment to his vision, his pain, his madness — that’s what gave us Starry Night. You think he would’ve painted it if he’d just let go?”

Jeeny: “Van Gogh didn’t let go — and it broke him. He lived chained to his suffering. The painting was his freedom, but it cost him his peace. There’s a difference between passion and possession, Jack.”

Host: A pause fell — the kind of pause that stretches like a shadow across the soul. The rain began to fall softly, pattering against the metal railings, blurring the neon reflections on the wet ground below. Jack’s eyes drifted toward the city, where a billboard flashed the face of a smiling couple, frozen in advertised happiness.

Jack: “So, what, we just float above it all? Watch joy and pain come and go like tourists passing through a train station? That’s not freedom, Jeeny — that’s apathy.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s clarity. When you stop grasping, you start seeing. Think of the Buddha — he wasn’t indifferent to suffering; he understood it so deeply that he learned not to be enslaved by it. He saw the impermanence of all things — and that’s where peace lives.”

Jack: “Peace doesn’t pay the bills, Jeeny. It doesn’t raise children, or fight wars, or keep civilization standing. If everyone just sat around ‘letting go,’ we’d still be naked in the forest.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even clothed and civilized, we’re still naked in our hearts. Look at how people cling — to money, to status, to identity — and in the end, they’re still afraid. Tell me, Jack, how many rich men die in peace?”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling like a ghost between them. The city hum seemed to fade, as if even the world leaned in to listen.

Jack: “You talk about freedom, Jeeny, but I think you’re just romanticizing detachment because you’ve been hurt. Everyone wants to believe they’re above pain after it’s broken them.”

Jeeny: (her voice trembling slightly) “And you think clinging makes the pain go away? You can’t trap moments, Jack. Not the love that left you, not the dream that failed. They change, and if you don’t let them, they rot inside you.”

Jack: “At least they live inside you that way.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack — they haunt you.”

Host: The rain began to fall harder now, drumming on the tabletop. Jeeny’s face glowed in the dim light, her eyes wet — not from the rain, but from something deeper. Jack’s hands shook as he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, the embers dying like a small star at the end of its life.

Jeeny: “I used to cling, too. To a person I thought I couldn’t breathe without. And when they left, it felt like the world collapsed. But it didn’t. It just changed. And I realized — I was the one who refused to move with it.”

Jack: “So now you call that freedom? Losing what you love and pretending it doesn’t matter?”

Jeeny: “It mattered more than anything. But I learned that love isn’t ownership. You can love and still release. That’s what makes it pure.”

Jack: “Sounds like a convenient lie for those who can’t hold on.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s a truth for those who have the courage to face change.”

Host: A car horn echoed far below. The rain slowed, leaving the air thick with the scent of wet concrete and coffee. The tension between them softened — like steam rising off a cool street.

Jack leaned forward, his voice low. “You ever wonder what happens if you let go of everything, Jeeny? If you really stop caring? What’s left?”

Jeeny looked at him, her gaze steady. “What’s left, Jack, is presence. The moment itself. Not the past, not the fear of losing it — just this. That’s freedom.”

Jack: “And if that moment is empty?”

Jeeny: “Then you see the truth — that emptiness isn’t nothingness. It’s space. Space for something new to arrive.”

Host: The clouds broke, and a pale light spilled through — moonlight, trembling against the wet table. It caught on Jeeny’s hands, still resting on her cup, and on Jack’s eyes, where something shifted — not belief, but the faintest softening of the walls he had built.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been too afraid to let go because I thought holding on was the only way to remember.”

Jeeny: “You don’t need to hold to remember, Jack. You just need to be.”

Jack: “But what if I forget?”

Jeeny: “Then you make space to remember again — differently.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them. The city seemed to breathe, its lights reflected in every droplet that clung to the railings. Jeeny looked out into the horizon, where the first hint of dawn began to emerge — a soft blush spreading across the sky.

Jack finally smiled, small but genuine, like the first light after a storm. “Maybe that’s what freedom really is — not having nothing, but being able to lose and still stand.”

Jeeny nodded, her voice gentle. “Exactly. To remember non-attachment is to remember freedom — not as an escape, but as a return.”

Host: The rain had stopped completely now. The world was quiet, washed clean. A single drop slid from the edge of the table, catching the light as it fell — and for a moment, it seemed to hover, perfectly free, before it disappeared into the night.