of an old wall clock
The sound of a wall cloc tick-ticking away the seconds in my doctor’s office always makes me acutely aware of impermanance, of transiency of all things and phenomena.
It also makes me a little bit sad for all the moments I had let pass without much awarness or mindfulness. Since I fell severely ill many years ago, this has changed. Any severe illness is a good teacher, maybe it’s one of the best teachers you can get, it’s just unfortunate that it’s also a very demanding one, a very strict one always thinking you haven’t learnt quite enough yet and that what you have learnt you must improve.
The lessons taught by an illness aren’t easy, they can’t be compared with what you learn at university, because in school even if you don’t pass an exam, you’re still alive and well. You can always repeat it, you can work part time…With an illness it’s much more serious: not passing very often means passing away. It means dying or at least getting much, much worse.
If there’s anything the illness has taught me, it’s patience and deep humility, but also a keen awarness of impermanence. The latter has enriched my life in more ways I can enumerate. It’s only when you’re constantly aware of transiency, only when you see decay within the things that look very much alive can you really appreciate them.
You know that every little moment is unique and that once it’s gone, it’s gone for good. Never again will it return, if you miss it…that’s it. You’ll never again get a chance to unmiss it, to experience it.
Every sunset is unlike any one I’ve seen until today: the colours are different, the wind on my skin feels different and smells differently, the sounds might be the same, but the quality to them is unique to this very evening, this very moment.
And so, despite a severe illness there are hundreds of things each day to appreciate, to love, to be happy about, to praise and to worship. To write little poems about. 🙂
(Picture not edited in any way.)