Harmony

The cherry blossom epitomizes mono no aware. Photo by Heather Duvall 

The Japanese have a phrase they like to use; like with many foreign terms, its English translation, ‘the pathos of things’ doesn’t quite bring the meaning home. Mono no aware is the bittersweet feeling that we get from the impermanence of things. We feel mono no aware whenever we have that knot deep within because we know that the willow we love so much will at some point wither, the pure white snow melt, the seasons change.  Yet it would be misleading to associate this feeling solely with nature.

I’ve always felt a connection with this phrase, way before I'd even heard of it. I recall those tranquil Maltese summer nights, where as a teenager I’d lie awake at night listening to Miguel Bose whistling nostalgically in Se Tu Non Torni. I'd feel an awkward sensation that I couldn’t quite articulate. I later came to realize that what I felt was the instinctive sweet restlessness stemming from the life changes we are all bound to go through. 

Since then, a lot has changed: I’ve lived on 3 different continents, my hair has receded and I’ve learned to be more vulnerable with those around me. But time has also taken a toll on my loved ones. The very people who only years ago seemed invincible in my eyes, aren’t anymore.

It all fell into place some weeks ago, at the cinema out of all places. I was watching Interstellar. The scene with Cooper stuck in the kaleidoscope, looking at his own past wishing to untangle time stuck with me; it’s the sad reminder that we’re at the mercy of time, and so are our most intense relationships. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to rectify things, we run out of time. We’re left with the memories and a deep yearning for what could have been. And this lies at the heart of mono no aware: we have a deep empathy for the impermanence of things around us because they mirror our relationships; we’re just as fragile as them.

Image from Facebook

This is already sad enough, but what about the big elephant in the room? What about death? Well, ironically this is where things start to lighten up. As Rainer Maria Rilke states:

"Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love."

In other words, we are more likely to latch on to the things we love most because of their transient nature. If we weren't faced with the great countdown, we wouldn't have an incentive to make the best out of the time we have. In other words, time defines us because it gives us a reason to be. 

Lake Como 

I’m writing this post sitting on a bench overlooking Lake Como. The temperature's freezing; my fingers are cold, but they’re not numb just yet because the fast typing keeps the blood flowing. It's serene out here. I hadn't felt such peace of mind in quite a while. And like in those half-forgotten Maltese summer nights, I’m tempted to feel nostalgic, but I won’t. Instead, I’m going to remind myself that this is a happy post; after all, the most deep-rooted emotions live through time. Time is the yin and transcendence is the yang. Mono no aware.