Impermanence

I have a portrait of nature outside my window: the Santol tree (Sandoricum koetjape) or known in English as the wild mangosteen. It's more or less 10 meters in height, having a small trunk from where 3 long, tough branches emerged. It's entire bark is not so much rough, pale brown in color, and has grown some light green, round patches which I presume as molds. Nowadays, the leaves are green as a lawn. Looking closer, I see that some leaves have started to become distorted. This distortions look like small, irregular lumps, which are normal among these leaves. They look like lumps but they are in fact crumpled, hollowed leaf surface, as if thrust by some long barrel with irregularly shaped point. I am still uncertain why this happens, but I heard from somebody that it's one way for the leaves to deal with toxic pollutants. I am more than uncertain if there would be botanists who might claim this truth, but it's just one "myth" I still remember up to these days.

This tree, I believe, has been here for almost two decades now. It grows on our neighbor's backyard, just a few feet away from my window. Whenever I need a glimpse of nature, this santol tree is a reliable companion. Nowadays, it has begun to bear fruits: round, green, unripe santol fruits which will, in a few weeks time, be yellow or orange as they ripen. The leaves, at times, become red and orange, and they look like crumpled crepe papers hanging on branches. When they fall, they litter our backyard and rooftop that definitely peeves my mom. Some fruits fall and thud on the rooftop. Teenage boys sometimes hang out in our backyard and try to steal some fruits. In a year's time, I have seen many changes of this tree, which is a perfect example of how impermanent things are.

I felt ignorant when I read the word impermanence in a Buddhist magazine. It says there that you cannot ever understand what the Buddha taught if you are still clueless of impermanence. The dictionary where I searched the word gave me a straight answer: not lasting. Still, the word eluded my life.

In my first meditation retreat, I came across with experiencing the concept of impermanence. Hearing those meditation instructions constantly reminded me of how impermanence should be understood. Everything is changing. NOTHING is permanent. Everything comes, goes. Things that arise, pass. Beginnings have endings. There is always an ever-moving reality. I found it move through out my body while meditating, from a mosquito bite, to a very stubborn itch I was tempted to scratch, then later went away. Again, it reminded of what my late grandmother had told me while we were arguing each other long time ago: All things change. It was an epiphany unbeknown to me, a larger understanding that easily anchored my discernment of Love.

Change was then an uncomfortable word for me. Especially it was difficult for me to part ways with friends, funny situations and cheerful moments. I had sunk into sadness every time I bid goodbyes, knowing that the possibility of meeting again might be very unlikely. In the long run, I have noticed myself getting used to this kind of situations, since I often encounter new people and bid goodbyes again. It was a recurrent pain to accept change. But the process has taught me more; that every time people leave, there are more new people to meet. And I have seen it in those moments that I possibly never encounter anymore. I look again closely to those people I am very thankful I met. I smoothly accept the fact that as we say our goodbyes, there are new people again to say hellos. My mentor once told me "People come and go." Those four words help me to accept these inevitable changes.

Looking at the santol tree makes me ponder on how I now grasp impermanence. I see the greening of leaves growing vividly, and they will change sooner into fiery colors. Likewise the greening of my own life as I meet new beings, and the firing of my intimate longing and fear as they leave. The bearing of unripe fruits that will be eventually ripened, like that of the sweet ripening of friendships that I have made. The sun greets and the rain kisses this tree, as I see it in mornings and early afternoons of my life. The light of insight and the shower of blessings continue to arrive, as I wait in non-action, observing the changes. The brown bark, with little green patches on it, stays enduring. Though within the core of its trunk, like that of other trees, is an every growing magnitude of life. My own rough beliefs and patches of prejudices on the surface of my spirit cannot outgrow what is real in me. For the inner source of Love is really within, showing its unchanging might, yet having a growing, tender core. This tree is impermanence I perceive, and through it, I become more faithful to the permanence and lastingness of Love--unseen, yet always alive.