Impermanence on the Pond
The rain has stopped, and the laurel is blooming along the water’s edge. Brimming with excitement, I pull my kayak into the water and begin paddling up to the bend in the river. It is the best place to view the laurel flowers reflecting in the water.
Many of my friends and family members are gifted artists. I freely admit that I am in awe of their talents. Unfortunately, I struggle to draw a recognizable stick figure. However, for a brief period every summer, I create remarkable “water paintings.”
I paddle past the laurel plants to the second bend in the river, turn my kayak around, and head downstream, feeling a rush of anticipation. When I float to the edge of the river where the laurel reflects in the water, I find myself in the middle of a Monet-style painting. My heart stills, looking at the beauty that surrounds me.
My paddle becomes an artist’s brush, and with a flick of my paddle, I create a wave that radiates away from my kayak. Right before my eyes, a new “painting” appears in the water’s reflection. I feel a rush of joy that this act of creation brings. I continue to dip my paddle into the water watching the waves create new patterns that replace the previous images.
On my paddle home, I recall the time my friend told me about the mandalas of colored sand that monks created at the UMASS, Amherst campus. The monks worked for days painstakingly, creating a beautiful mandala from millions of grains of sand.
After the monks completed the mandala, a closing ceremony took place. The public had a brief opportunity to view the creation before the monks swept the beautiful, intricate design away.
Years ago, when my friend told me about the mandalas, I was shocked to learn that the monks intentionally destroyed the mandalas so soon after their creation. For the monks, the destruction of the mandala is a metaphor for the impermanence of life. Nothing lasts forever, and everything is in constant change.
Unlike the Monks, I didn’t work painstakingly on my “paintings.” Nonetheless, as the years go by, I’m beginning to understand a bit about impermanence, and the act of holding tight onto things, and the fear of letting go. For instance, when I first moved to the pond, I assumed that there would be a series of unending summers to paddle up the river to where the laurel blooms. However, as the last of the petals fall from the bushes, I am aware that there is no guarantee that I will paddle up the river to create a painting next summer. A lot can change in a year.
At the mandala closing ceremony, the monks give a portion of the sand to the attendees. Then traditionally, the monks pour the remaining sand from the urn into a nearby river. From the riverbank, the sand is carried to the ocean and spread throughout the world.
I am filled with awe, love, and gratitude as I create the “paintings” on the water’s surface.
I believe this energy is infused into these water “paintings” as it flows away from my small corner of the world into the headwaters of the Souhegan River. Then, I visualize this energy continue its way into the Merrimack River, past wildlife, houses, businesses, and people as it ultimately makes its way into the Atlantic Ocean.
One thing I know with certainty is that every living being, our waterways, and the oceans can use a little love and compassion on this summer morning.
With Love & Healing Energy by the Pond,
Laurel
laurel@energybythepond.com
