The Deep Well of Impermanence

Although I have learned of the impermanent nature of everything that is, and I myself may have spoken eloquently about it to others, I still have the habit of acting as if everything is permanent and I am a separate self. Every cell in my body will soon die and be replaced by a new cell. Still, I have the tendency to think that I am the exact same person today and I was yesterday.

– from Touching the Earth by Thich Nhat Hanh

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The practice well of impermanence is bottomless. There is always deeper to go when it comes to discovering and embodying the wisdom and insights generated from teachings centered on impermanence. Life is constantly offering us lessons on the nature of how everything and everyone changes, to be sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re picking up what it’s putting down. Just because a teacher is standing in front of a classroom teaching a lesson doesn’t mean the students are paying any real attention. Learning and understanding takes effort.

I continually and regularly do my best to remind myself of the reality of my own changing, ever-in-flux, ebbing & flowing nature. Impermanence is a practice for me. One that I choose to actively and consciously engage in. And because it truly is a practice, that means I also consider myself very much a student of the process. Since I’ve been an involved & interested student in this subject of learning for some time, maybe I could be considered a 3rd year student (this is me trying to make a metaphor work here, stick with me) but I still have a long ways to go when it comes to getting my degree (okay, for the metaphor’s sake, let’s say I’m likening myself to an undergrad who’s fixin on becoming a PhD).

However, and here’s where the metaphor falls apart, there is actually no real graduating from the school of impermanence. So what I’m saying is: I’m a student and I always will be. But hopefully I’ll keep learning and growing and applying what I’ve learned a little more and a little more as time goes on.

Case & point.

Dear Land,

Dear Piece of Land for Sale,

Strange as it feels to say, I was wondering if it might be possible to claim you for our own. (And I say strange because: does the land not belong to all of us and also none of us? I mean, can anyone truly own the shared ground beneath our feet, where roots and rocks form a road map underground, quietly connecting all beings great and small?)

I was hoping we, my husband and me, might be so bold as to become your caretakers for a little while. Please know we would do our honest best to take good care of you.

We’ve been looking for a long time. We’ve even managed to get close a few times, only to have our hearts broken when the answer was no.

I don’t mind telling you, dear Land, that it’s getting harder and harder to keep the dream alive. To do the work necessary for my heart to stay open and not close in an act of self-protection.

I reckon you’ll have a lot of offers. We are in good company with other sweet people also looking to fulfill their vision. I am not in the business of competition or one-upmanship. While part of me would like to present you with a list of reasons of why you should choose us over them, the truth is: I can think of nothing that separates us from our human family.

Still, to perhaps our credit, the poet in me wants to tell you:

When your evergreens sway
in rhythmic response to the wind,
we would listen.

When your creek’s belly
expands and contracts
in breathing pulse with the seasons,
we would match our inhale
and exhale in unison.

We would infuse into all
of our actions please
and thank you.

We would cherish you
knowing you belonged
to us; we belonged to you;
and you belonged to all
beings past & future,
two-legged & four-legged,
crawling & swimming,
rooted & winged.

This is me trying to prop
open my aching heart,
in hopes of calling you
towards us.

This is me wanting to
tell you we are here.
Waiting.
Ready to go all in.

With Love,
Nicole

Imma Gonna Need A Little More Time

This is me acknowledging 
my great discomfort amid
an opening world 
after such a long time closed. 

This is me saying
I'm a slow processor, 
a slow percolator, 
a woman who's gonna need
a little more time to adjust. 

This is me saying 
for me, right now:
hugging is hard; 
group functions are hard;
socializing is hard. 

And I'm not ready
to jump back in to
all the things just yet.

Perspective

Today is my birthday. 42 trips around the sun.

Around 5am this morning, I was sitting in my usual morning chair by the front window with my usual cup of tea close at hand and my usual companions (paper journal; favorite blue pen; a book of poetry). Then inspiration struck. I decided I wanted to fling myself out and about some place before the heat of the day came on strong. So I grabbed a bag and collected a few items to put in it and drove to Waterworks Hill, where I took a short walk to the Peace Park overlooking our lovely town of Missoula, Montana (here in the U.S).

When I arrived at the Peace Park (owned and up-kept by our local Jeannette Rankin Peace Center), I found a pile of pine cones someone collected. Inspiration struck again and I decided to turn them into a heart (see pic above).

Since I brought along my meditation bell and a soft folding back-jack chair, I then set myself up near the hanging bell to do the morning chant and sit in meditation for a little while.

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