Appreciation and impermanence

Jack Kornfield, in his lovely Buddha's Little Instruction Book, says "The trouble is, you think you have time." He doesn't say what we don't have time for, but presumably he means that we put off important things because we assume that we can do them later. The trouble is, there may not be any "later."

Recognizing that our time here is short can help us appreciate life more. I opened my book, Living as a River, by discussing how an awareness of impermanence can enhance our appreciation of our loved ones. When married people were asked to reflect on the death of their (still living) spouse, they found that they could more easily overlook their partner's flaws — those socks on the bedroom floor seemed less significant — and found it easier to appreciate their good qualities. You might think that reflecting on death would be a downer, but in fact an awareness of impermanence enhances appreciation.

This applies to everything in life, including our lives themselves. One of the things the Buddha encouraged us to do was to reflect on our own impermanence, and how old age, sickness, and death are inevitable. And in the light of that we reflect that we're responsible for our own lives and our own actions. He was saying, in essence, life is short, make good use of it. When people hear this they sometimes think it means "life is short, have as much fun as possible." But that's a rather alienated view, I think. If you really take on board how short life is, you're forced to recognize what's truly most valuable in your life. And for most of us that's experiencing and giving as much love as possible, and doing things that are meaningful. "Fun" comes pretty far down the list, if it's there at all.

Being aware that each breath you take is impermanent makes it seem more significant and worthy of attention. Notice your breathing, aware that each breath comes only once. Each breath is unique.

In fact, as you pay attention to your breathing, notice how each moment is unique. That moment and that moment and that moment — each one is there so fleetingly. Each one is precious. This may sound like a platitude until you "get" it. Then it's a simple and profound truth: each moment is precious.

But let's think again about those around us, about those close to us, about those we're connected to with ties of blood or love, about those who barely register as feeling beings, about those we don't like or can't stand to be around. You're going to die. They're all going to die.

Life is unpredictable. You have no idea if you'll ever see them again, or if they'll ever see you again. The people you see today — this may be the last time you see them. And maybe you should behave as if this was indeed the last time you were going to see them. What last words would you like them to remember you having said to them, should you die tomorrow? What last words would you like to remember having said, should they die tomorrow?

Look at those people, as if you're never going to see them again. Let yourself feel vulnerable and tender. And let yourself feel affection for them. Let yourself appreciate their basic goodness. Let your judgements and your tendency to focus on the negative fall away, and recognize that you're surrounded by good people who are struggling to be happy. Let yourself love.

The trouble is, you think you'll have time to love later, and you might not, so behave as if you don't have time to waste, and let yourself love — now.

PS. You can see all our 100 Days of Lovingkindness posts here.

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