Impermanence

empty
Originally uploaded by n.elle
In my non-dual healing practice of Impersonal Movement this morning, I went deeply into the aspect of the work in which I was dropped in and seeing from the heart. In this place, a vasana arose quite clearly: "This will all be gone." I was not aware during this moment of being a separate me in the space I was practicing or in the larger space of the world. The statement brought to my awareness aspects of the room I was in that would no longer be there, then aspects of the house I was in that would no longer be there, then aspects of the community I live that would no longer be there, then aspects of nature and of countries and of the galaxy that would no longer be there. When I had "enough" in terms of following these threads of impermanence, I simply stopped the practice. I did not have a personal reaction to what I just experienced, but rather a long-view as if looking at the passage of time through a telescopic lens.

This evening, impermanence was brought directly into my stream of consciousness as I learned that a beloved woman in my local AA community had drowned yesterday while swimming in the ocean at her shore home. "This will all be gone" took on new meaning. It could be seen and felt in the empty chair in the front row of the meeting. The void in that space was palpable. This vasana occupied the sullen and tear-streamed faces around the room. In this moment in time, it moved from the impersonal to the personal and eventually, back to the impersonal again.

The Buddha's teachings had particular emphasis on the importance of accepting impermanence as in integral part of the life cycle. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk, made this profound statement: "If you suffer, it is not because you believe things are impermanent. It is because you believe things are permanent." Change is inevitable; suffering, as the Buddha taught, is optional.

Driving back home from the meeting tonight, with this news still lingering, I pulled the car over to stand under the gorgeous moonlight. I thought about this woman, someone I could call a friend and what I recalled about the last time I saw her. She and I had coffee together after a meeting. She showed me pictures on her phone of her grandchildren, who she said were "her heart". She spoke about looking forward to her time at the shore. I was aware how much she loved to be by the sea. What a beautiful and cruel paradox: the very thing she longed to be near would the very thing that would take her life.

As I let that understanding settle in me under the night sky, I felt a shift to the impersonal. Some stars that I was gazing at will be gone someday. As will the trees. And the flowers. And the houses. And the people in the houses. And other people in AA. And my loved ones. And me too.

Life and death are in relationship and one cannot exist without the other. Impermanence allows for possibility, for new doors to open. The passing of my friend will help me appreciate the preciousness of my life, here and now. To not take time or moments or interactions for granted. To savor the blessing of being alive.

Thank you for these unexpected gifts, J. May you find a new home in the waters you so loved.