We are all familiar with the profound reflection on the cycles of time in our lives contained in the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, as celebrated in Pete Seeger’s famous 1959 song “Turn! Turn! Turn!” and later popularized in the Byrd’s 1965 hit of the same name.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
-Ecclesiastes 3:1–8 (from the King James Bible)
I might use this essay to strongly argue against the times to kill, to hate, and the times of war, as I am opposed to all three occasions. But this essay is a meditation on impermanence, one of the foundational doctrines in Buddhism. And so I’ll focus on the ebb and flow of our lives as viewed through the lens of ephemerality, or anicca as it is called by Buddhists.
Impermanence (anicca) is one of the three basic conditions of human existence according to Buddhism, along with the concepts of suffering (dukkha) and no-self (anatta). Even though we try to structure our lives as if we were immortal, the persistent, unyielding fact of life is change. Along with change comes a certain degree of instability and uncertainty. The course of our lives can and often does turn on a dime.
Even if we maintain a fairly routinely arranged life, with a stable home, career, and family, our aging bodies belie the reality of the effects of time.
Now, I reside in California’s beautiful Sierra Nevada foothills, where each summer the elegant Sierra tiger lilies (Lilium parvum) bloom in partially shaded areas, where they grace the surrounding landscape with their regal presence.
However, not long after their magnificent bloom, each blossom withers and fades.
In the higher elevations of the Sierra Nevada range, the delicate Western columbine (Aquilegia formosa) manifests a similar life cycle.
And so with our lives, which are built on the foundation of impermanence and subject to the constant sands of change. Many a philosopher has attempted to pinpoint something of permanence that exists and persists within the human species. However, it is the spiritually oriented philosophers of humankind who provide viable answers. We can find three instances within the Vedic religion.
In Hinduism’s Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, emphasis is given to the concept of “Neti, Neti,” meaning, You are not this, not that, thereby signifying that nothing we can claim as “me” or “mine” is permanent. When the great sage Ramana Maharshi (1879–1950) formulated a practice for his followers called Self-Enquiry (Atma Vichara), he enjoined them to reflectively ask, “Who am I?” If we ponder deeply enough, any attribute we call our own can be seen as fleeting, variable, and subject to flux. Another great Hindu saint, Sri Ramakrishna (1836–1886), gave the analogy of an onion to describe our seeming permanent self. Just as when the various skins of an onion are peeled, “you won’t find anything inside,” he asserted; likewise with the hollow shell of our apparition-like outer self (Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna).
And so, is nothing at the core of our beings? Perhaps this core might better be described, as the Jewish mystics have done, as “nothingness.” Or, as the Buddhists characterize it, emptiness, which comports nicely with their concept of no-self (anatta) mentioned above. In any event, if we cling to or identify with the substantial outer shell, we miss the insubstantial innermost essence.
While it might appear to fly in the face of the Christian or Islamic tenet of the immortal soul to state that our innermost self is nothingness/emptiness, in truth both concepts find common points of agreement if slight but important concessions are made to each principle. Namely, in the relative sphere of existence, something does persist (and it persists from birth to birth according to the doctrine of reincarnation). However, from an absolute perspective, nothingness resides at the core of Everything, including our soul. Thus, when viewed synergistically from both perspectives, relative and absolute realities are able to coexist. St. Teresa of Avila succinctly summarized this coexistence in her Interior Castle, “the soul always remains in its centre with its God.”
Our job during our twinkling-of-an-eye time on earth is to peel away the onion skin of our outer impermanent self and realize the essence of our inner being as the unlimited, unqualified, empty ground of existence, which exists in a state of oneness with the ultimate Reality (or, to use the theological term, God). The Atman is the same as Brahman: our soul, our spiritual self, is ever-united with God, the ultimate Reality. St. Teresa wrote of this state, calling it the Seventh Mansion, wherein, “The soul … is made one with God” (Interior Castle).
The next to last sentence that Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, uttered prior to his passing into paranirvana was “Vayadhammā saṅkhārā”—“All conditioned things are impermanent.”
Nothing in this relative sphere of existence can escape the constancy of change. Thus, as we flow through the seasons of our lives, there is a time to be born, and a time to die. And in-between is the time for us to realize the truth of our ephemerality, anicca.
As with the tiger lily and the columbine, our life cycle is predetermined. It is up to us, during our fleeting time on earth, to unfold our true nature. We can accomplish this by undertaking spiritual disciplines aimed at revealing our innermost essence. This is an inner blossoming that has no end.
