I was standing by Hathaway’s Pond on this overcast morning, thinking about waves. There is a Buddhist teaching, often and beautifully taught by the beloved Vietnamese monk-poet Thich Nhat Hanh, that we are like waves; we may stand out as tall or short, beautiful or mundane, powerful, angry, peaceful, but in truth we are not the wave; we are the water. Or at least, we are both, and it behooves us to remember our divine source and living attribute—the All, symbolized by the water—so that we don’t get too caught up in or take too seriously our impermanent earthly appearance.
Watching these waves—or ripples, really—I realized that the symbolic truth goes even further. The waves may seem to move across the pond, but it’s not the water that’s moving, it’s energy moving through the water. Not for a second is each wave made of the same water molecules.
The same holds true for a human. We are not the same stuff from moment to moment. In fact, a human is really more of a process, a movement or action, than an entity you can point to and say, “That’s him!”
I tried that this morning at the pond side. I pointed to a wave and before I could even raise my hand it was already a different being. And in fact, the change was constant, and I knew I couldn’t really “see” a wave, that I was being deceived.
The reason we don’t look at ourselves or other humans with this same recognition—that what we’re seeing is a constantly transforming thing—is similar to the reason our eyes can follow a wave across the surface of the pond and perceive it as a single wave. It’s an evolutionary requisite that keeps us from forgetting who our friends and enemies are. But the illusion can also cause us to take each other for granted, to worry excessively over our “self-image,” and to lock each other in category prisons for life, forgetting that people change.
You don’t have to like people, I’m certainly not saying that, but the more you understand that this whole interplay of humans and societies and love and hate and my view and your view is all just a drama-series that changes plot, changes characters, and comes to an end eventually—just as the pond undulates one day, settles into a glassy stillness the next, freezes, evaporates, and disappears into the clouds, someday reappearing in a different valley—then the more your own heart can settle into some level of peaceful acceptance.
Equanimity is a wonderful word to describe this state of mind. Composure born out of the knowledge of, and acceptance of, impermanence. I try to keep equanimity in mind because the thought alone helps brings forth the peace that is inside me, often hidden underneath the petty fears and insecurities that can loom large when I don’t slow down and take a little time to contemplate, to look at things from a larger perspective. If I can let that peace come to the surface, it may just ripple outward, spreading in every direction. Like a wave!
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Don, this piece really resonated with me. The image of the wave as a metaphor for our ever-changing selves is both beautiful and humbling. It makes me wonder, if we are constantly in flux, what is it that truly defines our identity? Is it our memories, our values, or something else entirely?
My first time listening instead of reading and it was so soothing and thought-provoking - thank you Don! You have such a talent for making counterintuitive concepts seem simple and easy to grasp. And it's so interesting how hearing the author's voice adds a whole extra dimension to the piece.