Impermanence
On
the surface, everything’s impermanent. Nothing lasts. All forms arise and fade.
Not only does every wisdom tradition attest this truth, but more importantly,
we see it confirmed in our own experience over and over again. There is a
graceful fluidity to the process of becoming and be-going that makes life
achingly beautiful. But it’s also true that impermanence sparks continual
suffering. Everything we touch slips away. For the 2nd century Roman
Emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius this unimpeachable fact was liberating
– our impermanence frees us to more fully live in the moment and truly enjoy
our lives. Even as Emperor he knew his fame and importance was illusory and
fleeting. His writings are filled with the names of previous luminaries –
Augustus, Caesar, Plato, and the question: Where are they now? Reduced to dust.
One day we will be lowered into our grave, and all the mourners standing around
will one day be lowered into their graves as well, and their loved ones after
that, until many, many years from now no one will know any of our names. It
will be as if we were never here. The whole world will come to an end. Far from
lamenting this, Marcus Aurelius suggests we look with clear eyes at this truth
so that we might live with authenticity, courage, and enjoyment. An awareness
of impermanence drives us into the depths of the significance of this now
moment. This is, after all, all there is.
Presence
When
we fully acknowledge, accept, and even celebrate the transitory nature of all
things, we are freed of our debilitating attachment to any of them. Coming out
of the mind and its endless dissatisfactions, desires, and fears we show up
disarmed and awake in the simple, uncluttered, and concept-free awareness of this
present moment. No longer enamored with the thought-world, we fully enter the
real world. Even our sense of self is amended – we experience ourselves not as
a separate entity, cut off and alienated from the whole, but as an egoless
aspect of the whole. This is a freedom the conceptual mind can only imagine.
Through
practices such as meditation, contemplation, reverie, aesthetic rapture, and
immersion in nature we begin to experience for ourselves a realm of being
formerly hidden from us – the background beneath the surface of the fleeting
surface of impermanence. This abiding presence was always with us – in fact, it
is us. It has many names in the
world’s wisdom traditions – Inner Christ, Buddha-Consciousness, Atman, Inner
Witness, Holy Spirit – and yet no name can fully describe or contain this
depth-reality. It eludes our conceptualization and defies any attempt to clothe it in language. All of our words and concepts merely point to it the way a
trail sign points to the path ahead. The sign is not the destination, the menu
is not the food, and the map is not the place – yet we rely on these referents
to show us where we need to direct our active engagement, knowing that when you
walk the trail you leave the signpost far behind.
One
thing that all the sages and seers report, and a claim we can confirm in our
own experience, is the idea that this nameless presence hidden just beneath the
surface of the fleeting world of forms is silent, still, abiding, and
changeless. Unlike the world of surface forms, it never wavers. It hovers
beyond all qualities, categories, processes, and concepts. It just is. And in
its stillness it seems apart from the impermanent realm. Calling it permanent
is probably excessive and unnecessary – we should avoid calling it anything.
Names and concepts distort more than they reveal. But what we’re left with is
this – it feels like something. We may not be able to think it, but we sure
experience it. There’s a deep, abiding stillness and peace in the presence. We
experience an aliveness here, a sense of refuge, and a loving warmth. It’s easy
to see why in many belief systems this sacred background, this abiding presence
gets personified as a deity, and how teachings, doctrines, dogmas, rituals, and
institutions spring up around this primarily experiential awareness. You can
call it God if you want to. But you don’t have to. It is possible to remain in
the presence of this abiding, underlying reality without clothing it in language,
concepts, or religious ideologies.
If
we had to name the feeling we have when we realize this presence, we’d probably
just say “love.”
Love
Love
is the only word left standing after we’ve eliminated all the others. Of course
it too is inadequate. But it’ll do.
The
most immediate and acute way to experience this for yourselves is in the wake
of the death of a loved one. Your beloved is gone. They took form, graced your
life, and have now returned to the formless realm. And yet in their absence,
you feel more keenly than ever before their presence and the absolute love that
you shared. Love is unaffected by the passage of time and the transience of
forms. Love is the name of the infinite field out of which forms arise and to
which they return.
Armed
with these three truths – impermanence, presence, and love – we return to the
battlefield of our lives full of humility, yet brave enough to take a stand and
do what needs to be done. Love is our power now, and love overcomes every fear,
every foe, every lie, and every limitation. We see clearly the beauty and
pathos of these lovely, fleeting forms around us. We accept the changes that we
and everything else are going through. We no longer cling to the past or crave private
happiness. We simply intend the best outcomes, and work diligently to bring
them about, letting go of attachment and practicing deep-tissue acceptance of
whatever comes our way.
We
cultivate a practice of conscious intentionality. We live our lives on purpose.
We leave time and space for reverie, joy, meditation, prayer, contemplation,
and connection, knowing that these are the windows through which the sacred
presence behind the veil of impermanence floods into our lives like sunlight
after a storm. No matter what is happening in the outer world, we remain aware
of the sacred background, the stillness and silence of our inner being.
Love
and only love enables us to withstand the suffering brought on by impermanence.
In our pain we reach inside to touch the presence within and are in an instant
restored. Love is who we are, what we are, and what everything is. When we live
and have our being in love, we are on the beam and held aloft from darkness, ignorance,
and meaninglessness. In love we rise to our full stature as beings of infinite
value. And we fall in love with the whole messy, beautiful world.
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