embrace impermanence

photo source: Park looks for Roxy’s owners, The Augusta Metrospirit.

Roxy, a beagle who loved walking along the Augusta canal, was buried near the mouth of Reed Creek, where it flows into the canal. Roxy’s grave became a small shrine to her memory, and I first discovered it several years ago. Then the county decided to spend some tax money to build a stone patio at the entrance to the bridge across the canal, and decided that Roxy’s grave needed to be re-located. A sign was posted on a tree near the original gravesite, maybe a year ago, letting passersby know that the grave was being moved to somewhere else along the canal. Yesterday I came across the new grave. It is on the other side of the bridge, and down a flight of steps, right on the shore of a wide stretch of the Savannah River. It is still covered with small gifts left in memory of Roxy and of all beloved dogs. It seems to be a small way for all park visitors to embrace impermanence.

I clipped an article from Pittsburgh magazine called “Jobs of the Future.” Job #10 is a new one that I’ve never heard of: “Life-Transition Guide.” Here is their description:

As Benjamin Franklin so wisely observed, the only two constants in life are death and taxes. Accountants have already exploited the job possibilities of the latter, but dealing with death still remains largely taboo. All of that will change as death comes to be seen as the final stage of growth. To appreciate this we will seek out life-transition guides, philosophic yet practical individuals whose concern is helping people make the most of their final years. Imagine if you will a cross between a super hospice worker, psychologist, attorney, priest and teacher.

So, I could making a living helping other people embrace impermanence? Who knew? On that note, I’m going to mark this goal as “Done” for now, although I guess it won’t really be done until I’m dead.

Yesterday morning was another step along the way to letting go of a very important relationship, and thereby becoming whole. It is another opportunity to embrace impermanence.

I may need to embrace the impermanence of my refrigerator/freezer today. I just discovered that all my ice was melting in the freezer, and it seems like the refrigerator is getting warm as well.

Stuff is impermanent. It doesn’t last forever. It breaks down, wears out.

I’m glad I procrastinated about going shopping and stocking up, so there isn’t much food to be ruined. Sometimes procrastination is a good thing.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

These were the words recited by our ministers to each of us as they spread ashes in the shape of a cross on our foreheads at the end of tonight’s service.

It seems that this first day of Lent is a day that is all about embracing impermanence.

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

^{—Wendell Berry}

^{Found while going through stacks of papers this morning. Just reading it made me feel more peaceful.}

“I will not go back there. I will not sit on the back step and see the sky take on its color, or walk over the hill for the first glimpse of gray-blue water, or watch from my desk the locust leaves turn over in the wind. My time in the house was a gift, a gift that wasn’t meant to last. I should never have called it mine. But the house, in its embrace of me, seduced me. Like many an overeager lover, I misheard its whispers. I got the breathy ‘I am yours . . . ,’ but missed the final syllables, provisional and hesitating: ’. . . only for a while.’ ” —Mary Gordon

To Practice: Recall a place in your life that you have had to let go of, and then express gratitude for what it was to you for a while.

There was once a man who climbed to the top of a ten-story building and jumped off. As he passed the fifth floor on his way down, he was heard to say, “So far, so good!”
—Charlotte Joko Beck, “Nothing Special: Living Zen”

Yesterday my mood was falling like the stock market. I was tired from the day before, and even though I had the whole day free, I accomplished very little, and felt like I was in a fog. Simple things seemed difficult. My mind was trying to ruminate on all the things that aren’t done, all the things that are going wrong, the fact that it feels at times like my life is in freefall. (And, of course, it is. And so is everyone else’s. It’s just a matter of time for each of us until we hit the ground.) Then in the evening I went out for awhile and spent some time with others, and then came home and slept well last night.

This morning my walking buddy is not available. I’m hoping to walk awhile by myself, even though I’d much prefer to walk with someone else. And then I’ve got stuff scheduled all day long until evening. I’m also hoping to have a bit of time to play on 43-T this afternoon. But the sun is shining right now, and I just had breakfast, and a chance to catch up on cheers and write an entry. I hope today turns out as I’ve planned, but whatever is in store, so far, so good!

I had a funeral to attend yesterday morning, and I always think about this goal now when someone I know dies, and especially when I go to the funeral.

However, when I got home yesterday afternoon, and was facing my disoganization and clutter, I realized how much that has come to feel like a permanent, unchangeable part of my life. When I was young, I didn’t have these problems, but as an adult I have struggled with this stuff for years now, and I think I’ve come to believe that it can’t be changed, that it’s just how I am.

Someone once said, “If you think you can’t do something, you’re probably right.” I can’t remember who said it, but they’re probably right. And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I can embrace the impermanence of my disorganization and clutter. My disorganization and clutter is not me.