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.

Who Walks Behind - Memoro Menti

Memoro menti is Latin for “you have to die” according to Wikipedia.

Thousands of years ago, Roman generals appointed slaves the task of constantly whispering to them something along the lines of, “you too will die,” as they rode via horseback. This is arguably the origin of the phrase “memoro menti”.

This is also, I suspect, the subject matter of the Ghost song “Pro Memoria.” The chorus of this song is, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.” The song is therefore the slave’s constant whisper to the general: “you are mortal, and your time will end.”

I find myself more acutely aware of an inevitable end these days (hopefully not soon, but inevitable nonetheless). The following have helped present this truth to me: a current injury, a surgically removed tumor from my 20s, and the realization that time accelerates with age.

I do not delude myself into thinking that this present life is a gateway to some sort of eternity. Such a notion strikes me as vain (what other biological creature is bestowed such an honor, and worse, a self-appointed one?), and also potentially lazy. An assumption of eternity is often an excuse to do nothing with the present moment, under the false assumption that there will always be a tomorrow. One could argue that religion convinces its followers to limit themselves, to go “sinless,” with promises of eternity as well.

Such an epiphany, the realization of finiteness, renders the concept of “sacrifice” a difficult one to grasp. The justification of sacrifice, after all, is for the sake of a better tomorrow. But tomorrow is not a guarantee and therefore sacrifice is a gamble.

Conversely, to neglect tomorrow, to indulge in full-blown hedonism in this present moment, runs a very real risk of creating a hellish future. So, one has no choice but to assume that a tomorrow will exist, that some preparation for it is warranted, and that some sacrifice today could potentially render tomorrow “better.”

Past and present. Sacrifice and indulgence. It is a balancing act. To accept the “hell” of today for the sake “heaven” tomorrow, to sacrifice, runs the very real risk of dying having only experienced hell. I think of a father I knew who died of cancer in his 40s having only known a life of “saving aggressively for an early retirement.” His son, determined not to repeat the same mistake, indulged in a life of extreme hedonism and wound up in deep poverty by the same age.

Tomorrow is not a guarantee and neither is good health. There is a yin/yang sort of walk on a tightrope in regards to handling the present and future. And there are no answers to how far one should stray towards either side.

So we work, but we are wary of working “too much” (to die in a cubicle is to never have lived!). And we conserve, but we are wary of conserving “too much” (to live for “saving” is to forsake life completely!). And we are tasked with meditating and soul search for what exactly “too much” is in our lives. In doing so, do we “die in a happy medium?”

I prepare for running and retirement and cycling and skateboarding and travel and hiking up mountains and swimming in seas and reading new books!

And while I plan I also must whisper to myself, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.”