If you scuba dive just off the western side of St. Lucia, you enter and exit the ocean beneath two volcanic peaks called the Pitons. They are picturesque and towering, especially from the perspective of the ocean, but also from the nearby famous resorts. The Pitons put a noticeable texture on the landscape for the scuba diver who might have risen from a depth of 50 to 100 feet, where fish swim among corals on boulders fallen from the Pitons, making channels of movement and color through which a scuba diver can lazily swim.
Of course, one doesn’t have to scuba dive to see the natural beauty of the Pitons. But from the perspective of the ocean’s surface—or just beneath—they impose a dwarfing view. They stand rigidly as conical peaks while the swimmer bounces with waves and currents. And they also serve as a lesson about transience and permanence.
Someday, the Pitons will wear away, falling to erosive forces like rainwater and gravity. They will shed themselves of substance as sediment or collapse in landslides. Sure, they will last longer than the individual scuba diver—even generations of scuba divers. But their transient nature far outlasts the transience of human life. Bouncing around and pushed by currents beneath those inspiring peaks, the scuba diver encapsulates the transience of human life.
Even though Earth itself is impermanent, it serves as a background against which we see our own temporality. We might argue that our impermanence is starkly contrasted with infinity, but we can’t see infinity. We can’t even imagine it. You know that because you’ve tried unsuccessfully to picture the indefiniteness of both space and time.
But those Pitons. You can picture those. You know they are part of a volcanic island that rises from the seafloor, and because you know that, you know that they have a point of origin in both time and space. They are fixed at the moment and for centuries, but they, like the scuba diver are also bouncing in both time and space, and their future is not unimaginable. Looking permanent and strong, they will succumb to destruction both slow and rapid. For their own time, however, they serve as a background against which a scuba diver can see his or her own impermanence.
The endurance of Earth’s features can be interrupted by natural processes like earthquakes, eruptions, and erosion. Maybe you live in an area where Earth’s own impermanence is evident through abrupt change, say near the slopes of an active volcano or in an earthquake zone. Generally, however, most landscapes undergo gradual changes.
Look around today with this in mind. The places with which you are familiar will change. Highlands will become lowlands; lowlands will be raised into highlands. The changes will be turtles and snails to your rabbit and cheetah existence. All the more reason for you to realize that this is not your practice life.
Of course, one doesn’t have to scuba dive to see the natural beauty of the Pitons. But from the perspective of the ocean’s surface—or just beneath—they impose a dwarfing view. They stand rigidly as conical peaks while the swimmer bounces with waves and currents. And they also serve as a lesson about transience and permanence.
Someday, the Pitons will wear away, falling to erosive forces like rainwater and gravity. They will shed themselves of substance as sediment or collapse in landslides. Sure, they will last longer than the individual scuba diver—even generations of scuba divers. But their transient nature far outlasts the transience of human life. Bouncing around and pushed by currents beneath those inspiring peaks, the scuba diver encapsulates the transience of human life.
Even though Earth itself is impermanent, it serves as a background against which we see our own temporality. We might argue that our impermanence is starkly contrasted with infinity, but we can’t see infinity. We can’t even imagine it. You know that because you’ve tried unsuccessfully to picture the indefiniteness of both space and time.
But those Pitons. You can picture those. You know they are part of a volcanic island that rises from the seafloor, and because you know that, you know that they have a point of origin in both time and space. They are fixed at the moment and for centuries, but they, like the scuba diver are also bouncing in both time and space, and their future is not unimaginable. Looking permanent and strong, they will succumb to destruction both slow and rapid. For their own time, however, they serve as a background against which a scuba diver can see his or her own impermanence.
The endurance of Earth’s features can be interrupted by natural processes like earthquakes, eruptions, and erosion. Maybe you live in an area where Earth’s own impermanence is evident through abrupt change, say near the slopes of an active volcano or in an earthquake zone. Generally, however, most landscapes undergo gradual changes.
Look around today with this in mind. The places with which you are familiar will change. Highlands will become lowlands; lowlands will be raised into highlands. The changes will be turtles and snails to your rabbit and cheetah existence. All the more reason for you to realize that this is not your practice life.
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