Little is in our control
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” ― Heraclitus
Two weeks ago a dear family friend passed away unexpectedly. His enlarged heart went undetected and he simply died in his sleep, never to wake. It was entirely shocking to his family, my family, and all that knew him. It was entirely too soon. Last weekend many of us gathered online for a memorial and tears flowed freely as I mourned a cherished father figure in my life.
Later that night, my partner and I watched Rivers and Tides, a documentary about the sculptor and land artist Andy Goldsworthy. His tremendous works of art are created from pieces he finds in the natural environment — if in a pasture, he’ll use twigs scattered on the ground. On the beach he’ll collect stones and driftwood, in a river he’ll gather fallen leaves. As he builds the sculpture, the length of its existence is impossible to know. It may collapse while he’s building it, it may collapse hours, weeks, or months later. But it is not permanent; as with time, as with nature — all things fall apart.
The word impermanence has been in my head for days now. The Buddhist practice of non-attachment, or aparigraha as it is in Sanskrit, is not a new idea. It’s centuries old. But it feels like we’ve all been given the opportunity to learn this extra well this past year.
Our routines, our habits, our day-to-day lives have gone out the door as we’ve been forced to navigate a new way of life — one where uncertainty has replaced all of our best-laid plans. It was jarring to the system. Though the initial shock and grief are likely moving behind us, we’re still living in an unfamiliar way. The things that we held tightly to, the things that perhaps we allowed ourselves to be defined by, no longer exist.
It is particularly human to desire control. It makes sense — control gives a sense of security and security brings comfort. But once our routines shifted we realized just how little is in our control. Control then becomes an illusion.
So what a relief it can be to release the desire and need to control, to live in the fullness of time and the natural rhythm of all living things. One of conception, birth, existence, death, and renewal. Perhaps the cycles are moving a bit more quickly than we are used to, but it presents us with the possibility of a powerful evolution.
It is within us, in our natural shifts and mutations through time, that we learn to live truly present. The yoga and aparigraha practice become our point of reference, our place to ground and connect. A place where what you could do yesterday you might not be able to do today, and what felt impossible before now feels within reach. But just as the trees do not hold onto their leaves, just as the river is different every moment, we can live open to the shifting winds that carry us, and we can take our cues from the beauty of the impermanent world around us.
Caroline Joan Peixoto is an Azorean writer living and practicing yoga in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana. She was gifted the practice of yoga in 2012 by her first teacher, Pernilla Rafiqui, when she was living in Rwanda. She has studied with Maty Ezraty, Denise Orloff, Amy Ippoliti, Sue Elkind, Jivana Heyman, and Jason Crandell. She teaches live classes every Sunday and hosts a variety of events and workshops each month. Click here for more info.
Andy Goldsworthy art