Much of the world’s suffering stems from our discomfort with our own humanity. We strive for permanence, hide from death, and cling to pieces of the past we’ve outgrown.
Peace does not come from conquering our inner demons. Peace comes when we bring our darkness into the light of our minds and embrace the impermanence of being human.
The Five Remembrances of Buddhism are an ancient method of contemplation. They are designed to strip us of the fears of our ego by confronting them with consciousness.
Before you continue reading, I invite you to take a few moments for contemplation.
Sit somewhere comfortable, pour yourself a tea, or light a candle. Get a journal or sketchbook to write whatever comes up for you, and allow the distractions of life to fade into the background.
Silence can be frightening, but it is also in silence that we can allow our true selves to speak above the fears that hold us frozen.
I am of the Nature to Grow Old; I Cannot Escape Aging.
Chasing youth is a universal and endless battle that most of us fight and all of us fail.
We only see the cost of age and leave ourselves blind to the gifts that time brings. Aging is a great privilege that so few are offered.
Even those of us who do get to grow old often remain fixated and stuck in past personas, never waking up to the wisdom of age.
Age is not the enemy of youth, as we are taught. Age is the container for wisdom, which allows the wildness of youth to exist without chaos.
We do not become less ourselves through aging; we shed pieces that kept our true selves hidden—our desires, our purpose, our wildness—while being devoured by chaos and fear.
Take a moment to imagine that version of yourself, an older one. Meet this imaginary you with love.
See the lines of your face creased by laughs you’ve yet to have, grief you’ve yet to survive. See the pride, the sorrow, and the wisdom of your own face.
You may want to gently ask: “What do you want to tell me?”
Ask without judgment or expectations. No answer is wrong, and if nothing comes up, don’t force it; that is information too.
You may also want to write or draw whatever arises in these intimate moments.
I am of the Nature to Have Ill Health; I Cannot Escape Illness.
We cannot know how or when illness will steal from us—time, energy, cognition, or ability—we only know that we will become ill.
Our bodies are a sacred gift. They are the vessels in which we can experience the world—through taste, touch, smell, sight, and hearing.
Our bodies are in constant communication with us, although the messages we receive often become distorted by fear.
Fear distracts us from the gratitude that the body has earned.
Your body has allowed you to connect to your lover just by staring into their eyes. It has allowed you to feel the peace of holding a newborn baby, and it has endured each pain, injury, and moment of grief you have suffered.
When our inevitable fears whisper to us, pulling us from embodiment to panic, we must bring our minds back into our most sacred home—our body.
To do this, we must simply place a hand on our chest, close our eyes and listen to what the body is saying, in the body’s only language. Is there a tightness in your throat, an emptiness in your chest, maybe tingling on your face? Just notice.
Simply sit with the sensation, acknowledging it and letting its messages arise naturally from within you.
This practice only takes a moment, but each time fear rises, take that moment. Allow yourself to open to the safety of your true home, the body.
I am of the Nature to Die; I Cannot Escape Death.
Death is our greatest mystery while here on this earth. Throughout all of existence, we, as humans, have tried to resist perpetually all that we do not know.
Death is not the theft of life; it is simply the next step in the cycle of it. An ending so that there may be new beginnings.
The true theft of life lies in the moments where we are consumed by fear of our own nature.
The less we fight our own inevitable oblivion, the more present and alive we find ourselves now. The impermanence of life means a sacredness of even our most painful experiences, and an unrivalled joy in our most pleasant ones.
I think of the autumn leaves, their bright fire fading into the soil. What looks like an ending is only the ground preparing for spring. Death, too, is this kind of transformation.
The first two remembrances can teach us communication with our body. The remembrance of death teaches the rhythm of our nature—just as each plant and animal must die to maintain the balance of life, we too must die.
The freedom in this is knowing that each day we have the opportunity to ask ourselves: how do I want to spend this valuable time, so that when I meet death, I may greet it with a light heart and acceptance?
Trust your body and your own inner knowing, and the path forward will be far clearer than it is through the darkness of fear.
Reborn in Presence
These first remembrances bring us home to ourselves, each time we choose to remember them.
Throughout this life, we will die and be reborn many times, if we are lucky. Each time we choose acceptance, love, and presence, we die to the versions of ourselves who hid fearfully in the shadows of our minds.
This is why these contemplations are called remembrances. There is no finish line where ultimate peace greets us, and fear no longer penetrates us.
We must remember over and over again, every day of our lives.
In this remembering, this acceptance of our natural rhythm, we are born again as truer, freer, and braver versions of ourselves. Ready to experience life with wisdom, wildness, and presence.
The final two remembrances will teach us of our relationship to the natural rhythms outside ourselves; of the world and those we love.
For all those who have read this far, I hope you can afford yourself some time with these remembrances and discover the gifts your body holds beneath your fear.
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Previously Published on substack and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
