An instance of impermanence when it happens always seems surreal. The whole archaic impression of such a life-altering event is experienced with a numbness of really not being there. First, it always shocks. Second, every single one of us deny. Third, the realization makes us absolutely sad, and finally, dejection comes with resignation.
Impermanence is a constant of every life. We need this impermanence; only through these trials and tribulations, can we hope for a ‘finer’ way of living. Through these instances of impermanence, we can hope for great show of character (or not).
We have to survive at the end of everything. We have to be selfish enough to move along, for ourselves. At the end of it all, it’s us that is alive and has to keep living. When a bitch eats her dead pup, she does it to sustain and eventually, bear more. For animals, its all about survival and procreation. They keep it real. The inconsistency of every other thing is not ignored here.
But, we, as the better species of animals, have quite forgotten what is really real. Only when engulfed in tragedy, we address our impermanence. Death has been an experience where we question whether it’s worth it at all. When death happens, we realize everything we strive for doesn’t really amount to much. These are instances when we question things that are tangible.
Anyway, my point of view on dying is that it is sad for the person who is experiencing it, but sadder for those who are left behind. The dead is at the end of their journey; the living has to go on trying to live. It’s absolutely heartbreaking to live with the knowledge and feel that the kitchen is empty without a mother, a bed without a spouse, a crib without a baby, a country without a great leader, etc. Every little instance can draw out memories and the lack of. We are the ones ‘without’; we are the ones remaining. The dead has left permanently. Ironic, how this one impermanence in life is permanent in death.
However, even the anguish slowly fades. We survive. The whole experience of impermanence will be a blur eventually. It’s a matter of day, months or years, but it’s just this matter and time. After that, we forget.
Then we go on living our same old lives, like we never heard anything opposed to permanent. We go on striving for the same old things, laugh at the same old jokes - with perhaps the same set of people. Our older pair of jeans might not fit, but we go on living with the muffin top; to make believe that everything comes back to normal.
And maybe it does, but what are these instances of impermanence for, if that is so? Shouldn’t things appear different, feel different and shouldn’t our great show of character matter when anguish runs out? Why do we go on living meaningless lives, with people you don’t care so much for, and pretend that it will all amount to something else? Especially, when we know that it won’t. Shouldn’t these experiences ingrain in us a memory that will surface, as and when, we are most ruthless across the table, vain in front of the mirror, or incredibly feeling indefatigable?
Perhaps there is only one truth; if you are not dead, you have to live.