The Gift of Impermanence

The monks visit, in brief, was an incredibly magickal experience. From the moment the monks donned their masks and began their week-long task of creating the sand mandala, I knew I was in for an inspiring few days. After several attempts at capturing the experience in words, I came across a video by fellow Baltimore Yoga Village staff member Changa Bell and instantly realized the images speak louder than I ever could. Enjoy.

Drepung Gomang Monks Visit Baltimore Yoga Village from C-54 Productions on Vimeo.

As they calmly swept away the beautiful and pain-stakingly crafted sand art, one monk explained the importance of impermanence: acknowledging that all things, however beautiful, come to an end. Impermanence - the virtue the yogis call non-attachment. While I've found the latter challenging to embrace, the former created a sort of bridge between my Wiccan and Yogi worlds: the circle continues. Hoof and horn Hood and horn: All that dies shall be reborn. Corn and grain, corn and grain: All that falls shall rise again.

As Harvest time is upon us, remembering that our gifts are meant to be shared - neither hoarded nor wasted - is our seasonal task. In that sharing we take a leap of faith: trusting in the Goddess that all we consume or give will regrow. It's a difficult time for this spirit of sharing: unemployment and cost of living can prompt panic and the urge to cling deperately to what little material wealth we have. It's a time of self-preservation, tightening our definitions of "family" to blood relatives (sometimes just those in the same zipcode), and demanding our governments stop taxing us into bankruptsy. Entering month six of my own unemployment, I've certainly shared these sentiments on more than one moment of frustration. (And yes. Unemployed people still pay taxes.) But shutting down and blaming out accomplishes nothing but cutting off our lifelines. From social services to the power of the potluck, cultivating a culture of sharing - of harvest - ensures our survival. Or at least gives us a much better chance.

A Christian friend of mine once described church as "where the people who have meet the people who need." Whether its a hot meal, a shoulder to cry on, spiritual guidance, a place to live; religious community (and membership in the greater human community) fosters this connection. When living at an ashram in upstate New York, I was always in awe of how whenever someone needed something - be it gardening gloves or a random herb to heal a wound - it appeared. The value of the collective, albeit a tiny one, was undeniable. Neo-Paganism encourages and values this interdependence, valuing each individual as an equal weaver in the web of life, and encouraging community building through celebration of the sabbats as shared celebrations of life. Even when we have nothing, we have everything.

Trust and B'lieve, hon. May you never hunger. May you never thirst. Happy Lughnassad.