On the Nature of Life
Reading time: 9 minutes
From the origin of a river, a droplet flows down until it becomes part of the ocean.[1] At some point it will evaporate into a cloud and become part of the air. Then the cloud is blown back to the mountains and if it’s cold enough, the droplet will leave the cloud as snow. When it melts, it becomes again part of the river as it starts to flow downstream with the other droplets.
The droplet continuously changes shape and position. In liquid form it moves downward with the river. When it evaporates, it changes from liquid to gas and moves upward. As part of a cloud it floats and moves in the air until it falls down as rain. Or, when it freezes and becomes hail or snow, it changes from gas to solid and moves downward. In case the droplet becomes part of a glacier, it still moves – though imperceptible for us to consciously detect.
Thus the nature of life is change: change of position which is called movement, and change of form which is called transformation. Everything changes position and form continuously. A caterpillar for instance moves around on the forest soil. Then it resides into its silky cocoon, where it transforms into a butterfly. After leaving the cocoon, it then moves around through the air. After it dies, it transforms back into soil and food.
On a molecular level, cells move and transform ceaselessly in every being. So when the caterpillar doesn’t appear to be moving while it is cocooned, inside it’s body constant movement and transformation still happen. Furthermore, after the butterfly dies, change continues unabated due to ongoing chemical processes or serving as food for other animals. As a matter of fact, change is so vast and omnipresent, it’s inconceivable for our thinking faculty to fathom.
Since we seem oblivious to most of all this omnipresent and everlasting movement and transformation, it appears to be magical. It’s there, but it’s outside the scope of our conscious awareness. To illustrate this point, take a look at the illustration. At first we see two faces facing each other. When seeing the faces, the white provides the background and is being ignored. Yet upon looking again, the white turns into a cup. Now the black has become the background.
The funny thing is that when we try to see both the cup and the faces at the same time, that proves impossible. That is because we have trained ourselves over time to be aware of the figures, but at the same time we forgot that figures can only be seen and distinguished against a background. Yet figure and background both exist and form a whole, where one can’t exist without the other.
The same applies to changes in position and form: we can only perceive change if the movement or transformation happens within a certain bandwidth (i.e. at a certain speed and within our field of detection). For example, we can detect light but no UV light. Mountains, buildings and roads erode, yet that transformation is too slow for us to consciously detect. The same can be applied to growing vegetation and trees. Furthermore, the Earth moves around its own axis and orbits around the sun, but no matter how hard we focus, it can’t be felt to move.
Peculiar, though, is the phenomenon that when we grow older, we more and more begin to resist change, particularly our own ageing process. We ‘feel old’ because we can’t sport, work or drink anymore as we did in our twenties. We frantically hold on to an image of our younger selves to create the illusion of still being invincible. Yet the only reason why we feel invincible in our younger years is because we have no experience, and thus no idea, of what it means to come of age. But as soon as the skin starts to wrinkle or hair begins to fall out, women and men alike try to conceal it by all means. Whatever the reason, ageing is considered a problem that needs to be fixed. And the promise that the ageing process can be controlled, or even reversed, is lucrative business: cosmetics is a $532 billion dollar industry in 2018.[2] So a lot of people actually believe that the course of nature can be controlled, and are willing to dig deep for it.
Let’s discuss two main contributors to the desire for status quo and the belief it can be controlled, the first being language. We define things and events mainly for communication purposes. If I want to tell you how lovely our day by the sea was, then it’s convenient if I don’t have to drag you out to the beach to literally point out where I spent the day. So we invented the words ‘beach’ and ‘sea’ in order for us to communicate about those places without having to physically be there.
An inevitable afterbirth of defining and naming things and events, is that it becomes difficult for us to imagine them transforming into something else. Yet however indispensable for human communications, definitions and names won’t miraculously freeze objects or events forever in their current state. An acorn is not an oak, but given the right conditions, it inevitably will transform into it. An egg and a sperm cell are different from a human being, but inevitably they will transform into it. Everything moves and transforms indefinitely. Yet names and definitions cause us to firmly believe the opposite, and as a result we develop a peculiar affection for rigid consistency; a strong desire for things to remain as they are, to stop changing. Thus, the more we are faced with the inevitability of change, the more we suffer.
A second contributor lies in the upbringing of children. Adults usually carry forward their personal frames of reference unto their children as being ‘good’. Therefore, by default, anything outside of that framework will at least be considered strange, if not outright inferior; especially when a child grows up in an environment where its asking questions is regarded a hindrance. When a child is summoned to stop asking ‘so many’ questions, it can develop the first story delusion: the doctrine to accept any first version of a story without weighing it against different views. The child doesn’t learn to develop its own judgements based on trusting its own experience; rather it’s learning that any forced fed view is the ‘right’ one, regardless whether that view is in accordance with the child’s individual nature. Obviously this contributes to a lot of inner struggle later in life, for example if someone with a caring personality grows up in a highly competitive environment.
Most striking are the often rather rigid frames of reference regarding politics, religion, nationalism, family, sex, and money. But it also trickles down into less obvious behaviours. For instance, if we don’t like the taste of Brussels sprouts as a kids, we tend to cultivate that into a rigid conviction later in life. Yet that doesn’t do justice to our own ever changing nature. Like everything, our taste also changes with age, so if we don’t trust our own judgement and give them sprouts another go later in life, we might be withholding ourselves a delicacy due to a learned conviction - which wasn’t our own to begin with.[3]
Besides, without change, the world becomes a phenomenally boring place. Try to imagine that everything – and everyone – from this moment on, will be frozen in their development. Nothing changes anymore, we have reached the state of ultimate consistency. In time, we’ll know exactly what colleagues are going to say at the coffee machine, or relatives at birthday parties. A little later we have travelled every corner of the Earth and experienced everything Earthly that can be experienced. It might take a while, but eventually everything and everyone becomes completely predictable. Everyone is stuck forever in Groundhog Day.[4] Try to imagine being the parent of a 2 year old cry-baby, forever, until the end of time. Therefore, total control is total boredom and takes all the spice out of life. Change, and the unpredictability it creates, is the highly necessary salt in the stew.
Once the nature of life is understood, the desire for consistency and the addiction to control, fall away. We can literally move and breathe again without restrictions. Moreover, the undesirableness of wanting to live forever becomes clear. For the beauty of life lies in change. How would the Earth look without the changing colors of the seasons? Without seeing children, puppies or kittens growing up? Without the blooming of flowers and the magical colours of falling leaves? Without experiencing a mighty thunderstorm and a rainbow at the end? Without seeing an elderly couple strolling hand in hand on a boulevard? Without an unexpected visit from an old friend? Without achieving something we never thought we’d be able to do?
Therefore, understanding the ever changing nature of life creates acceptance, relaxation, and appreciation for change. Instead of trying to live in the past, we come to recognize that every stage of life has appropriate arrangements. While young, and full of physical strength, it’s natural to explore mainly our physical capabilities.[5] When we grow older, we can stay in shape physically and at the same time explore more and more our mental, or psychological faculties. Try to imagine how much time all of a sudden becomes available if we don’t have to worry anymore about things we can’t control anyway (like ageing for instance). In a flash, there’s no excuse anymore not to write that book, learn to play the guitar, or make that trip on the top of our bucket list.
It is thus that you are encouraged to recognize, enjoy, and embrace change in all its facets. During rain, realize the miracle of water coming down from heaven by intensely observing the size of the droplets, the touch of falling raindrops on your skin, or the sound they make on different materials. Watch the phenomenal interplay of shadows, created by a crowd on a sunny day, or the clouds forever changing shape as they drift by. For as soon as we learn to gaze at life with a genuine sense of wonder, at that moment we realize, with every fibre of our being, the true meaning of joy.
Jolly greetings,
Erik Stout
[1] An easy to overlook fact is that droplets, either by themselves or in groups, in any river, anywhere, never flow against the current.
[2] Which is almost the equivalent of the GDP of Belgium: $542,8 billion dollar in 2018.
[3] The strong desire to freeze objects and events underlies the importance of making a killer first impression. As soon as the first story delusion is part of our programming, based on too many variables to mention, a stranger is labelled within seconds, and will forever carry that label – no matter how much it changes in the future or deviates from reality.
[4] Groundhog Day is a comedy film starring Bill Murray as a TV weatherman covering the annual Groundhog Day event. He is then caught in a time loop, reliving the same day over and over again.
[5] Which is why it’s still a mystery to me why we put our youngsters in classrooms where they are allowed to do anything but use their physical capabilities.
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