The Skyscape as a metaphor for Impermanence

The only thing preditable about weather, as revealed by changes in the sky, especially the cloud formation, is its unpreditability. Whimsical, capricious, thy name is weather. In a way, these are all manifestations of impermanence, the Buddhist worldview of the material world. Somewhat paradoxically, recognizing this phenomenon is essential to attaining mindfulness, a state of mind that does not revolve with the external environments.

Let's then see the following images of vagarious sky taken from my personal image library for what that are, just observe and let them pass.

Looks like fire in the sky, exuding smoke from a location just about the street light and forming an expanding blanket that rolls across the sky toward the left.

A mushroom-top cloud formation, but with much less ill-portent than one that heralds a pending nuclear winter, sitting on top a billboard that warns of, of all things, when the weather turns bad.

A two-in-one collage of the same piece of sky as viewed from the Keys Hall at UF, but at different times that truly exemplifies the whimsical sky.

A big blob of cloud now overshadows the same grandstand as the image above.

A prototypical silver lining, with beams of light struggling to break through the tenacious dark clouds.

Sky in the water, reflection that is.

We often see these pinkish clouds in the evening near our place.

A cotton field in the sky.

A dragon on land, rather than up in the sky, twisting its serpentine form and chasing after the proverbial pearl seen at Fo Guang Shan Temple, Orlando at the occasion of this year's Buddha's Birthday celebration.

Birds scurrying away in disarray from the tree canopy, perhaps sensing something amiss. Animal instincts fare better than human instincts in warning of impending danger.

A rare treat of a double rainbow arching across our piece of sky seen from our apartment.

A hind view of a airplane seemingly flying into the cloud ahead as seen from the ground of Fo Guang Shan Temple, Orlando, the green tent roofs being part of the setup in commemoration of Buddha's Birthday held on 11 May, 2009.

Beyond desolateness ...

The notion of impermanence can be exemplified by the seasonality of change exhibited by the plant world: the verdancy of spring, the luxuriance of summer, the crimson foliage of the fall, and the desolateness of winter. And the cycle repeats. Thus, impermanence should be accepted as renewal, celebrated as rejuvenation, and embraced as hope. At the same time, we must recognize that glory is fleeting, that success and accolades will come to pass, and that beyond the peak is descent. Conversely, being down is not the same as being out, and there is always hope when there is a tomorrow. Just live each day to the fullest, undeterred by the tribulations of the past, nor cowed by the challenges of the future.

When the mind is calm, anticipatory but not mired in fatalism, we can see elegance in desolateness, as the following images of the plant world, all taken during our evening walks, would conjure up, and await the exuberance that would surely ensue.

The Mutability of Life

CY, our elder daughter at Oregon, came to visit us this week. And she gave me three books, knowing that I'm an avid reader like herself. One of the books is The Year of Magical Thinking (Alfred A. Knoff, 2005) by Joan Didion. I have covered about thirty pages so far, which are primarily centered on her life as she sees it in the aftermath of the sudden demise of her husband.

In her words, which also constitute the first paragraph, in italics for emphasis, of Chapter 1:

Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.

Then on page 5:

In the midst of life we are in death.

These words, albeit precipitated by a traumatic event of having lost a loved one, struck an emotional chord in me as they resonate with one of the tenets of Buddhism, impermanence. Some prefer to call it perpetual change, for nothing stays the same, not even for a moment that may last for a nanosecond or shorter. Sure, we do recognize things don't stay the same: cars depreciate in value, the volatility of stock markets, the whimsical weather, bus routes that are never punctual, and at times of frustrations, that people change. We may even quote a popular Chinese refrain: there is no dinner that does not adjourn, during farewell parties.

But we seldom think of ourselves, our loved ones, in those terms. As far as we are concerned, departure from this world is a distant possibility, not even a certainty. And we prefer to be buried in our dailiness, a term I picked up in Joan's book, instead of being prepared for this inevitability when it comes, regardless of which day it is. Consequently, when personal tragedies hit, we may spend an inordinately long time wallowing in grief, in self-pity. Or as a former Maryknoll priest wrote, as quoted in Joan's book:

“We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.”

When reduced to such a cocoon state of self-imposed incarceration, we become leaden and fail to be energized by the cherished thoughts of having known a great human being. The world still needs the living, and I'm sure the departed will rest in peace, knowing that we continue to contribute in our own small way to global well-being.

Being prepared to face the mutability of life does not in any way connote a fatalistic acceptance of what life throws at us. Or we meekly await for the day of reckoning, wasting each day in wanton pursuits that pander to the sensory organs. Conversely, we embrace life in all its elements: be awed by human ingenuity, be amazed at the wonders of nature, be happy for others' achievements, be compassionate to others' misfortunes, be demanding of our own work ethics, be forgiving of other's faults, and be grateful for whatever we have, right this moment.

Yesterday is but history. Tomorrow is but a dream. But today well-lived makes every yesterday a fond memory, and every tomorrow, an anticipated challenge.