EARTH, WIND AND FIRE

One of my Christmas presents was the book "Life of Pi." I had seen the movie when it was out, but the book adds another dimension to the philosophical meaning of the story. A young man struggling with the existential issues of life and loss -- permanence and impermanence. The story has helped frame my attempts at understanding impermanence, and added much to my personal "unorganized" religion.

To contrast using the Earth to model "permanence," it struck me as reasonable to model "impermanence" using the wind. As I walked I was able to sense, and observe, the subtle changes of the wind; the tree branches moving, the forming and reforming of the wispy clouds overhead, the hawks soaring in the invisible stream of air. This was all constantly changing as the wind came and went, powered by imperceptible atmospheric changes.

I thought about the many times while bicycle touring that the day was spent pedaling into a strong wind. When I first started riding longer distances I found a headwind discouraging but, over the years, I accepted the wind as just being part of the environment I was riding in. So what if I had to gear down a bit and I lost a few miles per hour, I was still out riding my bike. I also become more aware of the days I had a tailwind - something I hadn't always appreciated before.

I thought about the times I waited in a harbor for the wind to dissipate or to change direction so that I could continue on my journey. Sometimes it would be constant for days causing the water to be rough and impassable, then when it died down the sea would be like glass and I'd marvel at the changes in the water's surface just because the wind wasn't there.

But did these thoughts represent "impermanence" or just "change?" What are the subtleties of change as transformation versus impermanence as not lasting? Impermanence certainly gives more of a sense of something going away rather than remaining and transforming.

Maybe another model to represent impermanence would be the few shriveled, rust-orange leaves clinging to the almost-bare deciduous branches at the end of the year. They will be gone by Spring, replaced by the new season's vibrant green leaves. Do the old leaves vanish? Do they change? Do they transform? Is that pile of burning leaves really the end? The scientist in me recognizes that the basic building blocks remain. That the molecules which had been structured into a living leaf don't disappear, but gradually become available for use in new structures - perhaps nourishing the soil to produce another life form, perhaps after multiple transforming cycles to become part of another leaf.

This concept, impermanence, isn't quite as easy to grasp as permanence. Maybe what is making it so difficult is the discomfort of knowing we are impermanent. As our earthly life ends there's no doubt we transform, but do we go away?