On impermanence

And remembering that nothing is forever

First snow.

It snowed on Thursday night here in the Western Catskills.

I woke up to a white blanket of snow, taking in the beautiful landscape of our land that had transformed over night from a golden Autumnal brown to a crisp almost blinding white.

People begrudge winter and often fixate on its harshness — all of which is real and true and yet, I have come to love it. There is an almost meditative quiet that comes through in the deep trenches of the cold that escapes us in other seasons. And there is a brightness from the reflection of the sun that brings me hope.

This was our first snow of the season that came from a warmer year (cough climate change cough), just last week it was nearly 60 degrees. So for nearly two days, I embraced the winter wonderland that seemed to have started, sporting my beanie and poofcoat and opting for soupy dinners to keep my heart and belly warm.

And yet today, I woke up to a mostly melted snow. Just like that, it was gone.

I wouldn’t say I grieved over the loss of the snow. I’m sure it will come again, but I did reflect on how quickly everything changed overnight. Again.

I saw the brown green grass emerge under the pockets of white snow and thought about how everything is and always will be impermanent.

The teachings of impermanence

Since I last wrote, much has happened, I have taught at two retreats, laughed, cried, danced and have dealt with the reality of living under a second Trump administration after a brutal loss that hopefully will awaken many progressives to finally realize that much of our nation, in this moment in time, have different priorities than us, than you, than me. And that it is time for us to sit with that and what are ways for us to come together instead of continuing to come undone.

The election results were surprisingly not surprising to me. Heartbreaking, yes, but not shocking. I stirred myself awake in the middle the night on Election Day to find my wonderful sleep-deprived wife glued to her phone only to tell me that he won, again. I let my heart break a bit and then went back to sleep.

In the coming days and weeks, the wisdom of my body and heart kicked in — I knew that if I were to find a sustainable way forward, I’d have to prioritize taking care of myself and the people I love. I reflected on how different I was moving through this moment in time compared to eight years ago, the first time this happened. I found ways to regulate, move my body. I was mindful of how much news I was taking in and made space for real connection and joy and community. It all felt different, even though in in many ways, it was the same.

Perhaps because I knew we were/are going to get through it. Or perhaps, I knew this wasn’t going to be forever. A long four years, sure, but not forever. And if I were to remain engaged, if I were to keep working towards a world where we could all be free, well, I knew burning all my energy now was neither practical nor wise.

The Three Dharma Seals: Suffering (Dukkha), Impermanence (Anicca), Non-Self (Anatta). Source: Still Water Mindfulness Practice Center

My dear teacher Zen Master Thích Nhất Hạnh writes:

If we look into the first Dharma Seal, impermanence, we see that it doesn’t just mean that everything changes. By looking into the nature of things, we can see that nothing remains the same for even two consecutive moments.

When we bathe in the river today that we bathed in yesterday, is it the same river? Heraclitus said that we couldn’t step into the same river twice. He was right. The water in the river today is completely different from the water we bathed in yesterday. Yet it is the same river. When Confucius was standing on the bank of a river watching it flow by he said, “Oh, it flows like that day and night, never ending.”

The insight of impermanence helps us to go beyond all concepts. It helps us to go beyond same and different, and coming and going. It helps us to see that the river is not the same river but is also not different either. […]

Thanks to impermanence, everything is possible. Life itself is possible.

There is a reason why this is a core teaching of Buddhism— that everything, all things are impermanent and that we have much to learn from that ultimate truth.

For me, impermanence continues to serve as a balm for me in these moments when our collective suffering feels like too much. This teaching also helps me get more radically present with the people I love, to really take in the reality of what is beyond just my suffering, to practice equanimity and see what’s going right with my life to which there is plenty: I have a wife I love deeply, a home I am grateful for, two sweet Tabby boys, a loving family, wonderful friends and a community that nourishes me. Impermanence has helped me deepen the layers of appreciation I have for these moments where light and joy still manage to make their way through. And I know that I must enjoy it, savor it, cherish it while I can.

This is the fuel that helps me get through, to keep going, to keep building towards a world filled with compassion and kindness. These are my biggest reminders that it is possible, no matter how impossible it might feel.

And the teaching of impermanence helps me enjoy the snow, for all its glory, before it all melts away.

So that is my invitation to you in these moments of suffering, both personally and collectively:

• How can the teaching of impermanence help ease your pain?

• How can the teaching of impermanence help you be more present and mindful in these challenging times?

• What is impermanence teaching you in this moment in time? About yourself? About the world? About all of us?

Let me know your reflections in the comments and how you’re taking care of yourself right now.