Australia and the World Past and Present

My house is well-built. Made with brick. Concrete covers the driveway.

But it is impermanent. At first glance it is hard to see my house in this way. Perhaps that is because it will outlast me. Anything that has a longer life-span than us seems to be very long-lasting. Maybe because deep down it is hard for many to accept our own mortality.

We all understand that we will all pass away. It is one of the few things in life that you be sure of. Still, it is one thing to know this on a theoretical level. If one is suddenly diagnosed with a terminal illness, the news often brings about a stronger understanding.

Back to the house. Windows build up layers of dirt. Spiders silently construct their cobwebs in the corners of rooms.

Carpets loose their luster over the years from being trod on.

You can sweep the floor. If you do, you will probably be unaware of much microscopic dust that has been kicked up. By the time you have put the broom back in the closet this fine dust is already on its way back down.

Bed sheets get worn down from years of use. One day a hole will appear in the threadbare fabric. We will ask ourselves reflexively – how did this happen? We are momentarily surprised. But we shouldn’t be. It makes perfect sense.

The one place where impermanence is most evident is in the garden.

People who do not like gardening know this to be true. There is a difference between ‘gardening’ and ‘garden maintenance’. I do the latter and I have chosen to not do it very often.

Gardeners enjoy gardening. The garden draws them outside -like a magnet. When gardeners garden they don’t think about other things. They are content to focus on what they are doing. For gardeners, gardening is not a chore. They like seeing things grow and this does not fill them will dread.

People who do garden maintenance are another matter. For these individuals, the garden still acts like magnet but it repels rather than attracts. These people put off garden work. They procrastinate and search for other activities that interest them more. When they are garden, they dream about being somewhere else. They daydream about walking in nature – some place that doesn’t need to be manicured.

I have a plant in my garden with which I have been doing battle for years. I don’t have much affection for this plant. It is not beautiful in my eyes. It is hardy and robust. Removing it from the ground requires days of sustained physical effort – cutting away much of the upper leaves in order to get at the bulbous roots.

A few years ago I decided to get rid of it once and for all. But the shovel didn’t budge it. It repelled my mattock. I had to buy myself a little tomahawk to blast the bulbs out out the ground. I thought that I had removed them all. But I was mistaken. Weeks later, new sprouts peaked their way out of the ground. Then would have been the best time to finish off my enemy. He was on his knees. But I was tuckered out from days of toil. I left it alone. My battle with this flora has lasted longer than the American Civil War. It has lasted longer than the Second World War. It has become my war of attrition. The plant is now back to its former glory.

A lawn will teach you about impermanence. People who mow should be the greatest experts on impermanence. By the time you put the lawn mower away those blades of grass are already plotting their comeback.

Impermanence sounds like a remote theory and on one level it is. But you don’t have to look very far to see examples of it. Your house will teach you. Your garden will teach you. The grass and the spiders will teach you. And if you don’t ever awaken to this reality, they won’t care. The grass will keep growing and and the spiders will continue building their little webs.