The wave returns to the ocean
...and that's the beauty of the universe.
When I was younger, I really enjoyed reading the works of Eastern philosophers. I think it helped counterbalance my thoughts of death and the concept of nonexistence. The Zen Buddhist Thich Nhat Hanh was a particular favorite of mine for a while. His words resonated with me and I found quite a bit of crossover between his beliefs and the aspects of Jesuit education and Transcendentalism I found meaningful.
I haven’t thought about him or Eastern philosophies at all in years. The time needed to meditate or drift from reality’s burdens to contemplate life, interbeing, and mindful living feels like a luxury I haven’t had. But maybe that’s just me making excuses. Maybe I need to slow down and do just that.
The Good Place has a brilliantly developed character named Chidi Anagonye. He’s a neurotic moral philosophy professor who is an amazing role model and friend. In discussing death, he draws inspiration from Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Art of Power.
Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it’s there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It’s a wave.
And then it crashes on the shore and it’s gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it’s one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it’s supposed to be.
As a teenager, I would go to the beach in the middle of the night and take in the ocean. I’d close my eyes and listen to the waves crash into the sand. I’d think about the juxtaposition between the ocean’s size and how little we know about what exists below its surface. In each of those moments I’d let out that quiet laugh that comes from the back of your throat, one in which you push air out of your nose and puff out your belly, but your lips and cheeks remain unmoved.
Hmmph.
It gave me peace. I felt a balance in the world between all that we have conquered and what still remains alien to us in our own home. I took solace in knowing there are parts of this blue marble that we haven’t destroyed, and entire species we couldn’t fathom that do not face extinction for the sake of our meals.
The foamy white water would caress my toes and retreat like an unseen arm on my shoulder telling me that everything would be okay. That’s what Chidi Anagonye and Thich Nhat Hanh’s words offer us as well.
Those words helped me come to terms with the loss of loved ones, as a way to eschew the traditional views of heaven and hell, life and death. I translate these sentiments through my rudimentary misinterpretation of the conservation of mass, which states that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, but it can be rearranged and changed.
My parents, for example, didn’t leave this realm. Their essence returned to the universe, like a wave to the ocean. They are part of what surrounds us, part of us. The matter of which they were made could someday be part of a beautiful sunset, a cure for cancer, people who create harmony and accord in the world, or, yes, a wave returning to the ocean.
N.B. I apologize for delays in my posts. I wrote this a little while ago, but a family member fell ill and ultimately passed. I felt it was best that this and some other pieces I wrote be put on hold out of respect.