The Sacredness of Constant Change

It’s easy to overlook the swiftness with which life carries us. One moment the seas are calm and the skies are clear, and suddenly there is a shift in the tide and things are different than before. It happens noticeably and unnoticeably, with big swells and little swells, on the surface and way down below.

It’s the passage of time, and no matter where you look, it is always there.

It’s in each morning that dawns as the break of day arrives a little later.

It’s in each night that falls as the sun sets a little sooner.

It’s in the leaves on the trees as they die and fade to the various shades of autumn.

It’s in the birthday party for a longtime friend.

In a wedding.

In a breakup.

In the anniversary of a death.

It is creation and destruction; the eternal rhythm of the universe, sweeping us along in its inescapable current from one experience to the next.

I recently spent some time with my older brother and his family, which is by far one of my favorite parts of this life as Angela. I am immediately skeptical of those who cannot fathom hope in our species’ future when looking into the eyes of a small human, especially one whose blood is shared. Running around with my oldest nephew and playing any and every game we can think of, my imagination is kept on its toes and I am reminded of the pure, child-like nature in all of us; the nature that seeks joy and play, creativity and connection, love and peace.

During a game of front yard tag, I ran after my nephew as his little legs pumped furiously beneath his little body to escape my never-far touch. As we rounded the two huge trees that easily stood several stories high above our heads, I slipped quietly behind one of their trunks and waited.

I carefully poked my head out to inspect my nephew. He was standing quiet and still with a huge grin on his face, slowly turning his head to figure out where I had gone. I stifled some laughter as he retraced his steps, getting closer to where I hid. I moved quietly around the trunk of the tree to evade his sight, and after several moments he finally stopped.

“Auntie Ang!!” his little voice yelled. “Where are you?!”

I jumped right out in front of him and he squealed with surprise and delight. This kid loves a good jump scare, which I am going to take full advantage of for the rest of our time on this earth together.

“Here I am!” I said. I tapped his chest. “Tag, you’re it!”

But we were both so lost in a fit of laughter that we couldn’t continue the game. We just stood there and laughed with each other, and I had to take a knee so I could gasp for air between giggles.

It’s in moments like these that I feel life’s impermanence most intensely.

When it was time for me to head home, I did so with a heavy heart, despite being ready to exist in my own space and hear my own thoughts again. When I finally sat down in my quiet, one-bedroom apartment, alone for the first time in many days, I found myself doubled over in tears. All at once, I was so immensely grateful for the time spent, and so terribly sad that it had gone as quickly as it came.

There is a principle in Buddhism known as annica, or “impermanence”, and it is one of the Three Marks of Reality that describe the function of the universe. It says that all things are in constant flux; nothing is permanent, nothing lasts. Accepting and integrating this aspect of reality into our lives is part of how we liberate ourselves from suffering. When we recognize that all things are impermanent, we can release our attachments to them and so release our ability to suffer. We do not suffer because things do not last; we suffer because we wish they did.

I recently watched Duncan Trussell’s cartoon The Midnight Gospel on Netflix, which is a crazy, beautiful animation that discusses all sorts of different philosophical musings (so of course I loved it). In the last episode, our protagonist, Clancy, is talking with his mother. In talking about death, Clancy’s mom notes how everything appears and disappears, and humans are part of that whole. Everything is impermanent, and whether we like it or not, that includes us. Making peace with death is part of finding peace in life. But Clancy resists in a fashion any of us might.

“I know, I know,” he says. “But, c’mon. There’s no way to stop the heartbreak. How do you…What do you do about that?”

“You cry,” she says, with a tone of incredulity that tells us this answer obvious. “You cry.”

So they embrace each other, and cry.

This animated conversation came across the scene with such eloquent simplicity, capturing such a profound aspect of what makes human life special that I had to include it in this reflection.

It is precisely because everything is always changing and nothing ever lasts that makes every moment, every interaction, every experience so very sacred. When I cry for life’s impermanence, it comes from a place of recognizing how so profound this notion really is.

Resisting time’s pull only brings us more pain. Accepting where it takes us requires accepting the emotions that arise when it does, which, more often than not, includes painful ones. Embracing them is our power as human beings to be fully alive.

We cannot escape change. We cannot escape loss or death. We cannot escape relationships that meet inevitable goodbyes, or calmness that meets inevitable calamity.

We cannot escape time.

And we shouldn’t try, because the curse of time’s hold on our existence is also a gift.

So when life’s currents pull you apart from people you care about, be heartbroken.

When it’s time to move, or start a new job, or be vulnerable in a new relationship, be scared.

And when someone dies, be sad.

But don’t neglect having hope for the future, finding courage in your willingness to face the fear, or remembering the laughter that carved room in your heart for the grief.

To honor all of life is to honor both the good and the bad. When we honor life in this way, we honor ourselves, and everything that we were made to be.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it is important to be aware of one’s emotions and have efficient tools to keep them under control, because sometimes too much emotion can be destructive.

But that’s for another post.

Because I tell you, it is far worse to feel less than it is to feel more.

In order to honor the sacredness of life’s constant change, we must be willing to feel all the emotions that life asks us to feel. When we run away from painful feelings, we refuse to honor the universal force that is the bloodstream of all reality: love.

So cry. And let the tears that flow be both tears of sorrow and joy.

They are sacred.