Impermanence

Yesterday morning I spent a lot of time thinking about my Wrecking Journal. I even made notes about what I wanted to write. It felt meaningful maybe even profound. But then I saw the news and everything in the world changed.

I don’t know anybody in Newtown, CT, but I’m a parent of a 9 year old boy. Hearing about children being shot at their school was, and continues to be, terrifying to me. I live on the West Coast of Canada, almost as far away from Connecticut as one can get, yet I couldn’t help myself; I had to walk to my child’s school and look into the building to make sure everything there was okay.

Earlier in the day, before the news,  I was musing on what Buddhists call Impermanence. It is a very important concept in Buddhist thought. Its meaning seems self-explanatory. Nothing in this universe is permanent. Eventually everything in the universe will change, degrade, fall apart or die.

Recognising this fact helps one let go of attachment. Attachment leads to suffering.

No shit. What stronger attachment is there than a parent and child?

The fleeting delicacy of life was thrown so intensely in our faces today and it has caused endless amounts of suffering. I can’t even comprehend the level of terror and horror these parents are trying to survive right now.

This isn't to say that one shouldn't love their children or that Buddhist thought is callous and uncaring. In fact it’s just the opposite. 

If we can understand and truly, deeply recognize the precious nature of life and respect that it has immeasurable value, perhaps the tragedy that befell those families wouldn't happen.

I have been thinking a lot about destruction the last few days. Thinking and planning the ways I will destroy this book. This journal has been created to be ruined. Today I struggle to separate my thoughts about the planned destruction of a book and the planned shootings of children.

Intellectually I know the magnitude of these two things are drastically different, but my heart cannot part them.

I wasn't going to destroy a piece of my journal, but I remembered this page and realized that as much as this is a book to be torn apart, perhaps I could create a part of it that won’t be. At least not for a while. 

Journals are records of our life events, this one is no different. 

Make no mistake I am furious, raging and desperately seeking compassion. 

It's nowhere to be found.