If our existence is compared to an ocean, on our ocean floor, beneath everything above, are three immovable rocks – impermanence, suffering and non-existence.
And the question: can these deep and murky forms be celebrated?
The answer is almost always, ‘No’. We insist our ship of consciousness steers well clear of these disturbing shapes that appear to threaten so much. But what if there is good news here?
Impermanence is the shape of reality. It describes how one thing always becomes another. Nothing is forever and no state or moment can be healthily prolonged. Spring will become summer; a baby will grow into a child; the West End show will end; people will die; we lose jobs, we find jobs, strong pillars crumble, we are passing through our home. Nothing lasts. Impermanence is both the rhythm and harmony of creation.
But we resist the rhythm. We set ourselves against the impermanence of life, regard it as pain. And in doing so, in setting ourselves against this fundamental cycle of existence, in fighting it, we lose touch with our sacred life. When we acknowledge, respect and celebrate impermanence, we step into the holiness of existence. Tomorrow is a mystery. We know only it will not be the same as today; that this too shall pass and that’s OK.
Suffering, the second boulder on our ocean floor, is related to the first. Much of our suffering is rooted in our fear of impermanence. We fear of change. We fear loss – for who shall we be then?
Suffering is varieties of fear. Fear when we do not have what we want or have what we don’t want. Somewhere in our psyche is the idea we can have pleasure without pain, when in fact the two are inseparable. Pleasure without pain is a hopeless cause we cling to, when autumn is the end of summer and winter the beginning of spring. Everything that ends is the beginning of something else. Pain is not punishment; pleasure is not reward; it is just the swing of a pendulum.
Feeling high and inspired cheers us up, opening our eyes to a wonderful world. Feeling low, flat or wretched connects us to the world in a different way, with understanding and compassion. We are asked to dismount our high horse. ‘Inspiration and wretchedness compliment each other,’ writes Pema Chodron. ‘With only inspiration, we become arrogant. With only wretchedness, we lose our vision.’
So can both inspiration and wretchedness, winter and summer, nothing and everything be celebrated? How do I feel about that?
And likewise non-existence? Non-existence, in its purest form, is existence unattached to the narrow and narrowing constraints of the ego. It has been compared to the recovery of sight by the blind. Suddenly, there is space in which to notice, breathe and respond. With no solid sun, the rays just spread outwards, permeating the atmosphere, and so it is with us. It’s the ego that wants to make its mark, build its walls, defend its territory, take offence, play victim, launch attack or batten down the emotional hatches.
Yet beyond its fearful presence, like rays from the sun, permeating our surrounds, is space and spontaneity; something that is free.
And so we will allow these huge rocks on our ocean floor. We do not ask that our ship of consciousness avoid them or initiate attack.
Instead, we notice impermanence wherever we find it and we find it everywhere – in my phone battery dying, in a pregnancy ending in birth, in ground clearance for new building, in a fire being lit, in a relationship dying, when a car is stolen, when a green leaf turns orange, when I break my favourite cup. And we become curious about our response, how we feel. And so know ourselves better and more kindly.
And it will be the same with suffering, when we don’t like the season we’re living. It is as if life is on hold or without meaning, when in truth, life is merely changing seasons. In the garden, emptiness is as much a season as flowering and as important in the cycle.
We notice our reaction to suffering – a sense of being cheated or resentment or perhaps simple wondering, ‘What message is here?’ Our ego reaction is habitual; a well-worn path. But maybe there is life beyond our habitual response. And what started as suffering becomes something fresh.
While non-existence, in its purest form, is always fresh. It is here now, a moving force, clear as day, noticing a scent, an emotion, a discomfort or a moment. There’s so much space in non-existence, even in crowded scenes, when free of the ego’s tedious and habitual take on events.
And beneath these huge rocks, if we handle them well and ourselves kindly, there appears on our ocean floor, a larger and more elusive form – peace.
It’s there.
Pema Chodron’s ‘When things fall apart’ is a helpful, well-written and rooted exploration of this and related themes.
