Dealing With Death: The Wabi-Sabi Paradox
The Japanese concept of wabi-sabi invites us to embrace the transience of life: the bonsai that struggles to root itself, only to shed its leaves, wither, and die. Such cycles of aging and passing are meant to be witnessed with a quiet joy—but we are not bonsai trees. Kobayashi Issa, the Japanese poet, wrote:
The world of dew
Is the world of dew—
And yet, and yet—
He penned these lines after the death of his child. In that trailing repetition—And yet, and yet—we sense his reluctance to fully submit to wabi-sabi. Something in him still longed for continuity.
We are born with the capacity to live a thousand lives. Our bodies are younger than our years; something within us remains youthful despite the passage of time. And throughout this journey we are accompanied by cells that hardly age. Deep in their sheltered chamber, the hippocampus, neurons hold our memories—ready to rise at a moment’s need. This black box is our soul, our identity, the essence of what makes us human.
Why would what societh calls "nature" grant us such gifts? Memories of laughter shared with family and friends, of children growing beneath our watchful eyes, of skills hard-earned and deeply woven into who we are. What is this memory, this faculty of innner life that rests in the soul of humankind? It is difficult not to wonder whether we were made for an eternal purpose, something beyond the turning of natural forces, something in the great plan of the creator.
“Do not be amazed at this, for the hour is coming when all who are in their graves will hear His voice and come out—those who have done good to the resurrection of life…”
John 5:28,29 (BSB).