Mono No Aware, Compassion for Life's Poignancy

My son is graduating from high school. He is my second and last child. My daughter graduated a few years ago and is in college. Soon, my wife Sandra and I will be empty-nesters. 

As part of a graduation present, I digitized a collection of videos from when my kids were young. Last night I watched those videos for the first time. 

Every parent thinks this, but in my case, it is true: my children were the cutest, most adorable creatures to ever walk the face of the earth.

Now, they are both quite mature adults, and they are headed into this world to make their mark. I am in awe of them both. I won't go on bragging about them. Not particularly seemly. But I am very proud. 

And I am also sad. 

A poignant nostalgia swept over me watching those videos as I transferred them to USB's to share with them. How I longed to kiss their rounded cheeks once again. The videos were filled with laughter and adventures -- trick or treating tigers and princesses, Godzilla destroying cities made of blocks, dances in puddles in summer rain, first bike rides and roller skates. Exhausting as those years may have been, I was fueled by love to engage with these two sparkling singing dancing laughing children. We played hide n' seek in the graveyard. We did treasure hunts and built ships of driftwood by the ocean. And somehow, without consciously thinking it, I felt that this family constellation would last forever. 

But now my son is off to drive across the country alone. He'll camp and hike in national parks across America. It's quiet here at home. And I am so deeply aware of how things change, of how everything is impermanent. 

My students at school also graduate and move on. I have been teaching for about 24 years. That's 24 classes of graduating seniors whom I have cared for who resettled across the world. And every year at the end of the year, I feel that goodbye.

Closer to home, both of my parents have died. I sometimes visit their graves. I can no longer ask them what I was like as a boy or where we first went biking together. I have only my own memories to remind me. And I feel memories of them slipping away. Of the many years we spent together, my mind only contains fragmented images, a few archetypal stories. These people I loved are gone. 

I am reminded of Dogen offering incense after his mother died, watching the smoke rise and ashes fall. We are touched by impermanence every moment of every day. So many moments coming and going, and we can't hold on to any of them. The present keeps slipping away. 

Sometimes it feels like the whole world is slipping away. As Buddha said, "All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature of change; there is no way to escape being separated from them"  (Upajjhatthana Sutta).

I suspect that at some point in life, all of us deeply realize that we are always saying goodbye, always parting with people, pets, places, and moments we love. 

The Japanese have a term that resonates with me. It is "mono no aware" (物の哀れ), an awareness and deep feeling of the impermanence of things that contributes to a poignancy and wistfulness at their passing, as well as a more lasting, deeper sadness about the transience of life itself. This awareness is revered as a form of deep appreciation. 

I think Americans are a bit ashamed of sadness when it comes. Kids, especially boys, are often bullied when they cry. All of us share our happy pictures on Facebook. "Look how happy I am!" I think maybe we identify happiness with success. So it has been a process for me to learn to appreciate sadness too. I think we in the US can learn from "mono no aware." It is so honest. Life is beautiful, and we lose everything we love. Cut off sadness and we cut off appreciation itself.

Even sadness is a dharma gate. When it arises, if we deny its presence, we cut ourselves in two. When we accept this touching emotion in ourselves, we open through it to the world as it is, present in these dewdrops of tears. We can be whole. 

And when we accept sadness in ourselves, we are more likely to accept sadness in others, making us more compassionate as well. After all, everyone is always losing people, things, and moments they love. We have this in common.

New moments are arising, and in these new moments we find the seeds of the past blossoming. In a very real way, nothing is ever lost. The past, present and future all exist here in the present. And still, everything is changing. The specific things that brought us joy disappear, and we feel their loss. So the joy we felt in the past becomes sadness now. And the joy we feel now is part of the sadness to come. Past, present and future are intertwined in the human heart. If we can open ourselves, we find all beings residing there. 

My son is beginning to pack his bags for his trip. I wish him great joy and adventure, not to mention a safe trip (I am a father after all). And as he drives away, there will be tears of love on my cheeks.