Mitakpa

Mitakpa is impermanence. From what I’ve gathered, it is arguably the core of Buddhism.

If Mitakpa is impermanence, it obviously means that, well, nothing lasts forever. Everything changes and nothing can be held eternally, kept frozen in its present state. Even stars die.

Suffering therefore stems from attempting to cling to the current state of something. Wishing to prevent change breeds anguish. This attempt to keep something “as is” can be directed toward a person or thing, or even toward oneself.

Buddha’s final words were notably a reminder that nothing lasts forever, that all things die. “All things change. Whatever is born is subject to decay…” he said. “All individual things pass away.”

What are the consequences of a false sense of Mitakpa?

“I will do that when I retire,” we constantly say as we withhold our true desires. We prescribe ourselves to the false notion that our time is everlasting, drawn from a fountain that pours with an infinite water supply. By wasting this year we believe that we open the gates to our eternal salvation, many years from now, a “promised land” lurking in a hypothetical future, a future that was written by someone else.

But our cells steadily weaken and degrade, whether we choose to withhold our desires or not. My own mind, body, and spirit will not be the same in twenty years. I have limited influence on my rate of decay (and some things could change for the better). Your control is also limited, and a better health insurance plan will not prevent the inevitable.

The smartphone deludes its owner into believing it is a key to immortality, having been given access to an entire world of information at all times, and given infinite lenses from which to view strangers. But these Faustian things drain you of your life force while falsifying your sense of being. They tell you that you exist in an eternal state of watching and consuming. Their manufacturers want you to believe that they are a medium of absolute power. Meanwhile, they insidiously accelerate your sense of time, rendering your brief stay on this planet even briefer. Days on a phone feel like seconds. Years feel like moments. Nothing is created but a few health issues from long periods of staring.

Bodily enhancements delude us into thinking we will prevent cellular degradation. A sag can be countered with a lift. Bad diet can be countered with a triple bypass. But no number of lip injections can keep a person from eventually withering away. Surgeries may tighten your skin, but they will not prevent your insides from rotting.

“Well, once my savings are high enough.” This is the antithesis of Mitakpa. This is a heralded phrase in this day and age. And yet the concept of “work until retirement” is relatively new in the scope of human history. Death is the only certain retirement. “Retirement” claims to be heaven, but for most it is tragically brief and limited.

Mitakpa also sheds light on the dangers of materialism. We want our acquisitions to remain as pristine as they were when we bought them. But cars rust and dent. Paint chips away steadily, revealing spots of ugliness beneath the lovely pastels. Kitchen flooring needs replacement. Objects collect dust and we constantly fret over maintaining our aura of perfection. Maintenance requires money. Yet we truly own nothing.

Meanwhile, industry constantly redefines standards of what perfection may be. This definition shifts according to what industry requires for economic growth. Clothes must be cleaner. Cars must be faster. Jobs must offer better “benefits.” Skin must be smoother. Social acceptance must require more time on the phone.

So we acquire more and more, needing that “one thing” to bring a sense of inner peace, and the hole inside us deepens. We obsess over keeping more things in a “new” state of being, in a state of permanence, our futile attempt to defy Mitakpa. And our suffering worsens, and we decide that we suffer more because we need more. And it hurts that much worse when the things that we purchased are inevitably destroyed or cast aside!

I do believe that there is relief in accepting that life is brutally short and that control over one’s own lifespan is limited. Letting go of the romantic sensibilities of materialist-driven salvation, and evading the Hollywood endings meant only to keep one subjugated and downtrodden, can at least give one a sensible grasp of his or her own true power.

The crux of consumerism is the suggestion that the consumer has deficiencies; there just isn’t much power in that.

I say this because time is precious; if you are aware that this current hour you find yourself in is unique and beautiful, you may be more apt to make the most of it. It will not be forever, but it can be incredible.

Let the chasers play the industrial slot machines.

Maps

The temp is 5 F (-15 C). I’m on mile 20 of a morning bike ride (32 km). My fingers have been numb for the past 30 minutes and my toes are in the process of joining them in their transformation from body extremities to icicles. My nose runs like an ever-flowing fountain. The tendrils of snot cling to my merino wool gaiter and then freeze, hindering my breathing. I have to lower the gaiter and when I do the biting winter wind absolutely punishes my face.

About ten miles ago I passed a flock of geese. There was an albino goose amidst the flock that stood our like a lone star in a night sky. I find a part of me wondering if the other geese can detect its genetic difference. Birds can pair bond, so can they also judge?

Five miles ago, the sun broke to my left. It slants down and brushes my left cheek but offers little comfort. Above me there is a stark demarcation of clear sky and clouds ahead.

I am alone on the trail again and I find myself also thinking that I’m on a bike ride this morning to escape the artificiality of the city. In this pain I cannot delude myself into thinking that nature is something offering constant peace and solace. If I were to sleep out here the elements might take me, as they’ve taken many of those not gifted with air conditioning.

Death is harsh in nature. Some of the geese may be slowly devoured over many minutes by a predator. Others, if they reach old age, may slowly starve to death due to their slowed reflexes. Or the elements may slowly overtake them as their weakening bones fail to fend off the cold.

Nature is harsh, but through it we may find a part of us, and the darker elements, the harsher elements, give us a realer view of our role in the universe. In the city we do not think of death. We delude ourselves into thinking it doesn’t exist, and therefore ironically find ourselves dissatisfied with our actions in the present moment. We refuse to believe that it can be a moment away.

On my final mile the verse to Ghost’s song “Pro Memoria” echoes through my mind. The Roman generals ride to war with their slaves, who whisper reminders in their ear that they will also die. This paradoxically gives them both peace and cunning.

And it isn’t just these Romans who have a more intimate relationship with death. Many Buddhist cultures also are more apt to contemplate it, and ironically measure “happier” than American culture.

It is almost uniquely in the west that we delude ourselves into thinking death can be avoided, that not everything has to end, that a future purchase may bring eternal salvation, and therefore the solution to life is a simple checklist. And this leads us to a life imbued with dissatisfaction.

“Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.”

In the distance I see the silhouette of a wildcat maneuver through the underbrush. A prey animal may be on its last legs.

I cannot predict when I will be that prey animal.