impermanence

The Universe likes to remind us, on occasion, that nothing is permanent. Everything--relationships, art, that fantastic meal you had last week, life itself—is transitory. The scale changes, but in the end the only thing that is true is that there is an end. Of late, the Universe has really been driving the point home in my life, in ways I’m ok mentioning publicly (breakup of a long-running and favorite band, changes to how I combat stress) and ways I am not. The end result is simply a reminder of impermanence.

It’s always tempting to see the apocalypse in everything when going through this cycle. “Big changes are a-comin’!” The world is going to end or change beyond recognition. Everything you love will be taken away. Etc. America is obsessed with the apocalypse for any number of reasons, but I think one of the strongest is that it is so much easier to imagine everything ruined than trying to fix thorny problems. It’s not just in our political and religious culture, it’s in our art too: destruction is essential to creativity.

I dunno. I don’t think it’s that simple. I mean, sometimes it is, sure. But decay is more common than violent destruction, and I’d rather have fertile ground than razed ground. Most of the time, anyway. Destroying everything—throwing a tantrum—rarely leads to better solutions. You need organic matter to make something, and better to have a nurturing environment than the void, no?

The void is inevitable, but I don’t trust this rush to get there. Better to honor what has come before, the impact it has had on you, and look for fresh ground to plant new starts.