My Impermanence

It was the Summer of 2005, I had just finished eating lunch at a Buddhist temple/cafe/bookstore on Massachusetts Avenue. Approximately equidistant from Harvard and MIT, the Shangrilas of any would be career student, including myself. I wandered over to the shelves of Buddhist literature for sale and noticed one shelf filled with multiple copies of one single book, "Safeguarding the Heart: A Buddhist Response to 9/11". A nun explains to me that it had been written by one of their own, another nun named Yifa who resides here in Massachusetts. Realizing I would not likely see this book again in any other bookstore, let alone the temple/cafe/bookstore frequented by its author, I made the purchase. The book started off simply enough, explaining the fundamental tenets of Buddhism, most of which I have already familiarized myself with. The rest of the book was precisely what the title presented it to be, a Buddhist response to 9/11. But one concept leapt out at me, the idea that nothing in our known universe is permanent, absolutely nothing, especially the towers.


About two weeks ago, while taking a study break, I thought I would indulge in my go-to distraction. "The Wonder Years" on YouTube. In the Fall, watching Kevin Arnold fumble through the minefield of adolescence was a perfect sanctuary from PowerPoint slides and published papers. A single episode was refreshing enough to keep me going for another couple hours(at which point I would need another fix). To my dismay and immeasurable disappointment, all episodes have been deleted from YouTube. Not only that, the account with the largest collection, Guardedheart, has been suspended. It's important to note that the "The Wonder Years" is not available on legitimate dvds. With financial competition factored out, Warner Bros. could not have taken action for any other reason than pure malice. Here's to you Guardedheart, be well my friend, be well.


I was depositing a check at the bank, when I noticed one of their aggressive marketing campaigns. "Use your debit card and earn points!". The ad had a list of vendors where this generous offer was valid. One of them was my Mecca, Dunkin' Donuts. I've been living in this city for almost ten months now, and the only Dunkin' Donuts I've seen is boarded up and obviously not offering points of any kind. One of the first things I did before deciding to make this life altering choice was Googlemap for Dunkin' Donuts. One turned up near my prospective apartment, and I was elated. When I finally settled in, I discovered it was closed down. Not only that, all other locations are located too far from me. This ad gave me hope. I asked the teller about the ad and queried about any nearby Dunkin' Donuts nearby. She told me she had no idea, and that as far as she knew they've been systematically shutting them down. Her words cut me like the Master Sword at its full strength. Now to learn that Dunkin' Donuts might be moving out of town, might be abandoning me like so many deadbeat fathers I have yet to become acquainted with, is simply unbearable.


Now this concept of impermanence should have been clear and obvious. For myself, this was only so clear after reading Yifa's words. I guess the fact always rested in the back of my mind, but its complete implications were never addressed. Everything and everyone I know, love, hate, or am ignorant of will eventually cease to exist. This includes friends, family, strangers, sheets of paper attesting to my education, my home(Hell, the only thing left of the house I grew up in is a shoddy cement foundation), my electronic files, and my Sylvie. The execution list doesn't stop there. It extends to things intangible: relationships, emotions, ideas, language, culture, law, and on and on. So that was my moment of clarity in a temple/cafe/bookstore in Cambridge. Now, one would assume that such a moment would make me more accepting of change and loss. However, one would be wrong.