The Queen’s funeral is a reminder that everything we experience is subject to change. Buddhists reflect on impermanence to focus on what’s most important
Autumn has come quickly this year. Three weeks out of August, it’s still harvest time, but there’s a taste of winter in the cold mornings. The sense of change is everywhere in public life as well, especially following the death of the Queen. Perhaps one reason its impact has been so powerful is that the length of her reign made her seem an unchanging fixture who brought a kind of assurance that we only really notice now it’s gone.
For Buddhism the death of a single person, whoever they are, is a reminder. It reminds us that everything we experience is constantly changing. Impermanence, Buddhism says, is woven into the fabric of existence, from the cycle of seasons to the rhythms of our bodies. I think science would concur, but this isn’t just a general truth. It’s a fundamental fact of our lives.
Each morning, as part of my Buddhist practice I bring to mind the thought that I, too, am impermanent, and so is everything and everyone I love. My death is certain, but its time is uncertain. These are just simple facts. ‘Everything that has the nature of arising,’ says the Buddha, ‘has the nature of ceasing.’ I sometimes feel an impulse to protest – ‘Surely not!’ or ‘Not me!’ But the point of reflecting in this way is to let the thought sink in, and doing that prompts a more searching question: What then should I do?
Perhaps this question also lies behind the impulse that many of us feel following a sobering time like the ten days of mourning and the deeply impressive funeral that have followed the Queen’s death. We don’t want to just go back to normal. Something should change; something should be learned.
Recognising impermanence is part of that, I think. Even a life that lasts ninety-six years and ends with an outpouring of gratitude is just a moment in time. ‘How long is the span of human life?’ asked the Buddha. ‘It’s the length of a single breath,’ he said, an inhalation as we grow in strength, and an exhalation as we age and die.
Seeing the shortness of our time can prompt an impulse to let go of the distractions and preoccupations that so often fill our thoughts, to cherish the time we have, and to use it well.
