Contemplating Impermanence
It is wise to really spend some time with the contemplation of impermanence; to not skim over it too quickly or assume you have realised it. One often runs the risk of not penetrating these experiences deeply, and their capacity thus remains at the surface.
The realisation of impermanence is not a philosophical one. It is embodied at the cellular level of our being and experienced with such finery that it serves to shift our dimension of seeing in such a way that any rigidity is carried into the river.
When I was a teenager growing up near the ocean, I would sit on the mostly empty beach and watch the water, allowing the witnessing of waves to wash over me and change me. With each passing moment, nothing remained the same. The mood of the sea and sky turned and turned, and I would find myself falling into a still point that did not turn or change like the sea. Sitting on the shore, I would pretend that my reference of awareness was all I could know, and that the town behind me, the road, the cars, or any nearby people all receded. The thoughts, stories, and preferences all drift by me and become impersonal movements like waves in the shoreless sea of mind. My point of view dissolves until all that is left is just this wave: changing, rising, falling, passing.
Those moments were like becoming a small grain of salt submerging into the sea and dissolving, or like a plume of smoke from a fire dispersing through the air. The true, refined experience of impermanence is similarly subtle and minute, like a sliver of pure vibration pulsating–a constant quivering in the web of existence. Dissolving, revolving, evolving.
Beauty, after all, is the way everything changes. If it did not change, what would there be to admire?
It is in this simple adoration that we find another key. It is the key to beauty. When we gaze upon something in nature and feel it beautiful, the feeling of beauty arises within us. She is the mother of rapture. Do not be so quick to pass off such sentiments. The beauty of truth is the truth of beauty. That means when you find the light in something, you not only pierce towards its source, but it also enters your heart and reveals the same source. Beauty is like an open window or a mirror facing a mirror.
And while change can be beautiful, it can also feel terrible. The Buddha said, "Everything is burning". Everything burning, the world, the universe, the constant flux in flames, in smoke, in ashes. Burning with the flames of craving and aversion, with confusion and delusion, with pain and emotion, with ageing one moment into our next. If the world is on fire like this, where does one find rest? Where does one find peace? Where is their refuge among the flickering of the flames of change?
To struggle with impermanence is to grapple on the ground of confusion. It is to go against the grain and slowly roast in the flame. Everywhere you turn, there’s no post to lean on, no solidity with which to lift oneself up. On what ground, then, can you stand? Where can you find your safe harbour? Where can you drop the anchor?
To find the anchor in impermanence is to find the anchor of impermanence. It is to allow it completely. It is to open the palm of the hand and embrace all the wider without hesitation without grasping, without remorse.
If you find yourself caught in a riptide while swimming in the ocean, you may panic and struggle to escape. It does not matter how well you swim; if you face it with might, you'll wear yourself out and get pulled deeper into the undercurrents. Like quicksand, the more you struggle, the more difficult it becomes, as the old adage goes, "what you resist persists," or what you push away pushes back with equal force.
What happens if we give up the struggle and surrender the fight? When you accept the present completely as it is, it is hard to find a problem present because there is no ego dynamic to formulate a problem. Try it for yourself right now: breathe deeply and evenly in a zen-like moment of pure presence. What problem is there? No problem in the present. This acceptance does not mean we act aloof to the task at hand; it only means that when we come to this place first, we can better deal with the issue with an untangled consciousness.
This acceptance is a type of giving up, a proactive approach that allows us to flow in the direction the riptide takes us. The key to emancipating yourself is to allow it to take you, for it will carry you all the way to its edge and spit you out. From there, it is easier to swim safely back to shore by going around it. Become untangled by letting it unwind, letting it spin, letting it move. When you are worried about getting out, you become constricted and only add to the push-pull that you're in. It is conflict.
Give up the fight.
You can even start to count how many times a day you exit a riptide in your mind, mood, or emotional reactivity. Watch it turn, see the turmoil, see the signs, and instead of struggling to keep your head up, step back and float.
Patanjali's renowned Yogasutra says, "Abhyasa vairagyabhyam tan nirodhah," which means the fluctuations of the mind are calmed by practice and non-attachment. I like to say the practice is letting go. The encouragement is to never give up, while at the same time always letting go.
We cannot move the river until we allow it. Likewise, we cannot let go until we accept.
This is the anchor of impermanence in action. It purifies our attachments. For in a sea of waves, one cannot be attached to any idea.
