2 responses to impermanence

An elderly woman kept repeating Things change as she told me about things that used to be true for her: I used to like french fries, but now I don't have a taste for them...Things change. I used to have coffee every morning, but after my husband died, I stopped that...Things change. I used to be able to drink water whenever I wanted—now I have to wait for someone to come by and fill my cup. Things change.

Her words convey more than an intellectual knowing of impermanence; she now lives this knowing in a way that makes even a drink of water something to be savored.

Nothing in the world is permanent, and we're foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we're still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it. -W Somerset Maugham

We know that impermanence is the nature of life: things arise, they remain for a time, they dissolve. There is never a moment when anything stops. We can have one of two responses to this ongoing cycle: we can 1) appreciate and maybe even find preciousness in the temporary nature of all things, or we can 2) fear change and struggle against it. 

There is a question that I ask myself when I'm fearful and struggling: What most wants to be lived through me in this moment? By asking this question instead of asking "What do I want to happen right now," I can sometimes realign my mind with the dynamic nature of things. Of course this doesn't always work, and even when it does, it doesn't ensure that I won't feel fear. But if I can lean into the fear even a little, I often see that fear too is impermanent—that it also remains only for a time before dissolving.

We all have to decide if we would rather live closely aligned with impermanence, which means experiencing both the sadness and the joy inherent in change, or whether we would rather live in a more controlled, measured way. Perhaps today you can try to notice the three qualities of impermanence—arising, remaining for a time, dissolving—in the spaces of your own life, body, emotions, and so on. 

A precious sad-joy moment for Pat and her father

There is a koan that points to impermanence: What was your face before your parents were born? Contemplating koans can open the mind in ways that conventional thinking usually doesn't. So, what was your face before your parents' birth? What will your face be 300 years from now? What is it right now? And what most wants to be lived through you in this very moment?

Between Going and Staying, by Octavio Paz

Between going and staying the day wavers,

in love with its own transparency.

The circular afternoon is now a bay

where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,

all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,

rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats

the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall

into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,

watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,

I stay and go: I am a pause.

Take it from the top, with love: The practice of starting over

Each time that we take our seat in mindfulness practice, it is to start over. Our intent is to be present with each new breath. Sometimes we try to make more of the practice, hoping for keen insight or longing for spiritual growth. But hoping and longing actually move us away from being present. You see, during practice, all the energy that we normally put toward desiring that things be different from how they actually are can be diverted to awareness of our breath. We sit; we breathe; we get lost in thought, get angry, feel calm, think another thought, stop feeling calm, and so on. Then we start over.

This starting over is good news. Each time that we practice in this way, we open ourselves to freshness. Every breath holds an opportunity to be with what is actually going on within our minds, our bodies, and our lives, without being confrontational with those things. When we learn to be with ourselves in this way, we can truly be there for others, as well.

No breath is more precious than the one you breathe in the current moment.

A monk from the US spoke about being among monastics from another country. The Westerners suggested to the non-Westerners that they could use some work on prajna (wisdom, intellectual acuity). The non-Westerners replied, "And you could stand to work on loving one another." Let's face it, in this country when we are told to sit still, it is usually as punishment, not to foster a gentle attending to our breath, body, and the moment just as it is.

A rock I came upon (heart added with the touch of a finger).

There is a line from a chant that we recite each day here at Gampo Abbey: May I be cheerful in the morning, kind in the afternoon, and inspired in the evening. That's a tall order! But something happens when we commit to starting over with our very next breath: we get glimpses of how precious each breath is, and how fleeting each moment is.

We all know these things in a heady way, but until we cultivate a meaningful experience of impermanence—in practice this involves being with the birth of each breath, its lifespan, and its passing away—impermanence doesn't point us to preciousness; it points us to fear, grasping, and so on. 

Do you remember the movie Groundhog Day? Bill Murray's character does the same thing over and over, and along the way something happens without effort on his part: he becomes cheerful, kind, and inspired. That's the magic of starting over moment to moment, breath to breath. We can stop trying to manufacture peace and, instead, allow it to arise from the spaciousness of simply being still and breathing.

We sit not to become enlightened. We sit to remind ourselves that we already are.

Forget about enlightenment. 

Sit down wherever you are and listen to the wind that is singing 

in your veins. 

Feel the love, the longing and the fear in your bones. 

Open your heart to who you are, right now, not who you would like to be. 

Not the saint you’re striving to become, but the being right here before you, 

inside you, around you - All of you is holy. 

You’re already more and less than whatever you can know. 

Breathe out, look in, let go.
-John Welwood