Chapter 1
We can also strengthen the quality of ardour by reflection on the transiency of all phenomena. Look at all the things we become attached to, whether they are people or possessions or feelings or conditions of the body. Nothing we have, no one in our lives, no state of mind is exempt from change. Nothing at all can prevent the universal process of birth, growth, decay and death.
When we don’t deeply understand the truth of impermanence, we devote ourselves, our lives, and even our meditation practice to seeking and wanting other people, possessions, experiences. WE get caught up in all the appearances of Samsara, the rounds of birth and death, and solidify our sense of self in the process. There is no peace.
The following is an excerpt from The Life of Shabkar, a book of teachings by an 18th-century wandering Tibetan yogi, and is a powerful testament to the truth of change:
‘Another day, I went for some fresh air to a meadow covered with flowers.. while singing and remaining in a state of awareness of the absolute view, I noticed among the profusion of flowers spread out before me one particular flower waving gently on its long stem and giving out a sweet fragrance. As it swayed from side to side, I heard this song in the rustling of its petals..
Listen to me, mountain dweller: . . I don’t want to hurt your feelings, But, in fact, you even lack awareness Of impermanence and death, Let alone any realization of emptiness. For those with such awareness, Outer phenomena all teach impermanence and death. I, the flower, will now give you, the yogi, A bit of helpful advice On death and impermanence. A flower born in a meadow, I enjoy perfect happiness With my brightly coloured petals in full bloom. Surrounded by an eager cloud of bees, I dance gaily, swaying gently with the wind. When a fine rain falls, my petals warp around me; When the sun shines I open like a smile. Right now I look well enough, But I won’t last long. Not at all. Unwelcome frost will dull the vivid colours, Till turning brown I wither. Thinking of this, I am disturbed. Later still, winds — violent and merciless — will tear me apart until I turn to dust. . . . You, hermit, . . . Are of the same nature. Surrounded by a host of disciples, You enjoy a fine complexion, Your body of flesh and blood is full of life. When others praise you, you dance with joy; Right now, you look well enough. But you won’t last long. Not at all. Unhealthy ageing will steal away Your healthy vigour; Your hair will whiten And your back will grow bent. . When touched by the merciless hands Of illness and death You will leave this world For the next life. . Since you, mountain-roaming hermit, And I, a mountain-born flower, Are mountain friends, I have offered you These words of good advice. Then the flower fell silent and remained still. In reply, I sang: O brilliant, exquisite flower, Your discourse on impermanence Is wonderful indeed. But what shall the two of us do? Is there nothing that can be done? The flower replied: . . Among all the activities of Sāṃsara, There is not one that is lasting. Whatever is born will die; Whatever is joined will come apart; Whatever is gathered will disperse; Whatever is high will fall. Having considered this, I resolve not to be attached To these lush meadows, Even now, in the full glory of my display, Even as my petals unfold in splendour . . You too, while strong and fit, Should abandon your clinging. . Seek the pure field of freedom, The great serenity
dubelight 