#impermanence — Public Fediverse posts

Yesterday, or: One last exhale

A Sijo

a heavy mourning cloak hangs
in your familiar closet;
no gatekeeper keeps this gate
that was not there yesterday;
mere rice paper divides two worlds
one last exhale and it gives way

d’Verse poetics: But no, a butterfly

At d’Verse, we are encouraged to write a poem in any form using at least three complete butterfly names from the provided list, though the poem itself does not need to be about butterflies.

List of butterfly names

Appalachian azure, Autumn leaf, Clipper, Clouded yellow, Crimson Patch, Duke of Burgundy, Fatal Metalmark, Fiery skipper, Gatekeeper, Golden birdwing, Golden Hairstreak, Green marble, Large Tortoiseshell, Lustrous copper, Miami Blue, Monarch, Mourning Cloak, Orange Sulphur, Painted Lady, Peacock, Pine Satyr, Rice paper, Rusty-tipped page, Silver Emperor, Silver-banded Hairstreak, Small Wood nymph, Sonoran Blue, Speckled wood, Spring white, Velvet rose, Wandering skipper.

Sijo?

A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

–Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

Bouddhisme et physique quantique

Depuis les débuts de la mécanique quantique, physiciens et penseurs bouddhistes ont remarqué des résonances frappantes entre les deux disciplines. Niels Bohr avait fait peindre le symbole du yin-yang sur ses armoiries, Erwin Schrödinger s’était plongé dans les Upanishads, le Dalaï-Lama, lui-même dialogue depuis des décennies avec des physiciens dans le cadre de l’institut Mind and Life. Ces convergences méritent d’être examinées avec rigueur, sans tomber dans l’amalgame facile.

Le bouddhisme place au centre de sa doctrine l’impermanence, rien n’existe de façon fixe et stable, tout est flux, devenir, changement constant. La physique quantique décrit un monde similaire au niveau subatomique. Une particule n’a pas de position ou de vitesse définies avant mesure, elle existe sous forme de probabilités, une fonction d’onde qui ne se fixe qu’au moment de l’observation. Cette absence d’état stable et prédéterminé fait écho à l’idée bouddhiste selon laquelle chercher une essence fixe dans les phénomènes est une illusion.

Le concept bouddhiste de production conditionnée illustre qu’aucun phénomène n’existe indépendamment des autres, tout surgit en relation, par un réseau de causes et de conditions. La physique quantique offre une analogie frappant avec l’intrication. Deux particules intriquées restent corrélées, quelle que soit la distance qui les sépare, de sorte que la mesure de l’une affecte instantanément l’état de l’autre. Certains y voient une illustration physique de l’idée qu’aucune entité n’est véritablement séparée du reste de l’univers.

Le terme sanskrit śūnyatā, souvent traduit par « vacuité », ne désigne pas le néant, mais l’absence d’existence propre et indépendante des phénomènes. Les choses n’ont de réalité que relationnelle. En physique quantique, le vide n’est pas non plus un néant absolu. Le vide quantique bouillonne de particules virtuelles qui apparaissent et disparaissent constamment, et le champ quantique reste la structure fondamentale d’où émerge toute matière. Les deux notions rejettent l’idée d’un fond stable et substantiel sous les apparences, sans pour autant être identiques.

Le principe de complémentarité de Bohr, selon lequel une même entité peut se comporter comme onde ou comme particule sans que ces descriptions soient contradictoires, mais complémentaires, rappelle la logique du tétralemme bouddhiste et la philosophie madhyamaka de Nagarjuna, qui refuse les catégories binaires du « est » et du « n’est pas ». Les deux traditions invitent à dépasser une logique strictement binaire pour appréhender une réalité plus fluide et contextuelle, de façon non duelle.

Ces résonances sont intellectuellement stimulantes, mais il importe de distinguer deux niveaux de discours. Le bouddhisme est une tradition philosophique et contemplative, fondée sur l’expérience méditative directe et une visée de cessation de la souffrance. La physique quantique est une théorie mathématique prédictive, validée par l’expérimentation. Les résonances relèvent souvent de l’analogie conceptuelle plutôt que d’une équivalence de fond, et le risque d’instrumentaliser l’un pour légitimer l’autre est réel, dans les deux sens.

Cela dit, la rencontre reste stimulante pour qui cherche à explorer des voies de passage. Elle a nourri des travaux comme ceux du physicien Anton Zeilinger ou du philosophe des sciences B. Alan Wallace, et elle continue d’alimenter une réflexion sur les limites de nos catégories habituelles, substance, séparation, permanence, que ces deux traditions, chacune à sa manière, remettent en question.

Une chanson de Claude Dubois – Au Bout Des Doigts

Les paroles sur https://lyriz.progysm.com/chanson.php?idlien=6519

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ovpy6o0W-Q

Par Daniel Jean dans Voies (x) de passage

COPYRIGHT – DROIT DE REPRODUCTION – La reproduction de cet article sur un blogue ou un site est autorisé à condition de respecter :   * L’intégralité du texte — Vous ne devez pas modifier, transformer ou adapter ce texte. * Le droit d’auteur — Vous devez citer le nom de la source (avec un hyperlien vers l’article original de préférence). * La finalité sans but lucratif — Vous n’avez pas le droit d’utiliser cette création à des fins commerciales. Si j’ai utilisé vos textes/photos et que vous souhaitez que je les retire, merci de me contacter en commentaire, ce sera fait rapidement.

✮ Warning Lights I Ignore ✮

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✮ Warning Lights I Ignore ✮

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✮ Warning Lights I Ignore ✮

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Builder

For Nelson (May 16, 1944-July 13, 2005)

If I would have my life to live over again,
I would find an old stone wall in disrepair
and I would spend my days seeking the tumbled
down stones hidden in the grass.

By day I would rebuild the wall. At night I
would lie in its lee. I would not be afraid
of the snakes and rodents disturbed from
their dark places in the cracks between the
stones where they sleep.

And when my life came to an end and the wall
was as yet unfinished, I would not moan. I
would lay myself down against the rocks and
let my body fade away into a place of rest in
the cracks between the stones.

March 11, 2005

(Reposted on the anniversary of my dear friend’s passing)

The Robin, the Crow, and the Release

Learning to Let Go with an Open Heart

-a lived moment of impermanence and non-attachment.

The Nesting Story

The robins had started building a nest in our breezeway earlier this spring. Their first attempt fell, and when they began a second one, I asked my husband to brace it with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t collapse again. It felt like a small but meaningful act of care — a way of participating in the life happening around our home.

Friday, when the mother robin didn’t return for hours, I called a wildlife rehab center to ask how long to wait before intervening. I was ready to bring the baby in if needed. But by evening, the mama returned. Relief washed through me. The fledgling was in the yard, and we watched her tending to it, guarding it, guiding it. It felt hopeful, like things were unfolding the way they were meant to.

The Morning Of Loss

Saturday morning, around eight, I took my dog out. As I rounded the garage, I saw the two adult robins in the yard — the mother and father — and a crow nearby. The moment the crow saw me, it flew off, and the robins chased after it. I knew instantly what had happened.

I went inside and told my husband, “Not a good start to the morning,” as the tears began to flow. Some part of me wondered if I could have prevented it — if I had gone out earlier, if I had been outside already, if something could have been different.

But when I went back out to look, there was a pile of feathers. It had already happened. There was nothing I could have done.

Carrying the Grief

And still, I was heartbroken. Even knowing the natural cycle. Even understanding that crows have babies to feed, too. Even knowing that energy moves, transforms, returns.

I carried that ache with me into my lymphatic flow class with Darshak N Gala. My body was tight, braced, holding the events of the morning. But as we moved through the rhythmic sequences — the breathing, the gentle movement, the process of relaxing into the body — something in me began to shift. I could feel the emotional charge loosening, draining, moving.

The Body Begins to Soften

By the time we reached the end, Darshak offered an affirmation/prayer that landed exactly where I needed it. It helped me integrate everything I was feeling — the grief, the tenderness, the helplessness, the truth of the natural cycle. It was as if my body finally had permission to release what my mind had been gripping.

And in that softened space, the Buddhist teaching on impermanence rose in me — not as an idea, but as a lived truth. Everything changes. Everything ends. Everything returns.

Impermanence as a Lived Truth

As the truth of impermanence settled into my body, another companion teaching rose with it, non- attachment. It’s often misunderstood as not caring, but in Buddhism, it’s actually an invitation to love without gripping to let beings moments and seasons be what they are, even when we wish we could hold them in place.

Loving Without Gripping

Non-attachment doesn’t numb the ache of loss. It simply keeps us from collapsing under it. It teaches us to loosen our grip on what we cherish, not because it matters less, but because it matters so deeply that we allow it to move the way life moves, remembering that this didn’t erase the grief of the morning, but it’s softened its edges. It gave the ache somewhere to go.

As I moved through the rest of the day, I kept returning to the memory of that small pile of feathers in the yard, not with the same sharp ache, but with a quieter tenderness. The morning had reminded me in a way I didn’t ask for that life is always shifting, always moving, always becoming something else

What the Morning Taught Me

While I can’t protect every fragile thing, I can meet these moments with softness instead of bracing, I can let myself feel the ache without gripping it. I can let the teaching settle into my body the way the breath does, slowly, naturally, in its own time, and maybe that is the real practice, learning to stay open to the world even when it breaks your heart, trusting something, and you know how to soften around what you cannot change.

The Robin, the Crow, and the Release

Learning to Let Go with an Open Heart

-a lived moment of impermanence and non-attachment.

The Nesting Story

The robins had started building a nest in our breezeway earlier this spring. Their first attempt fell, and when they began a second one, I asked my husband to brace it with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t collapse again. It felt like a small but meaningful act of care — a way of participating in the life happening around our home.

Friday, when the mother robin didn’t return for hours, I called a wildlife rehab center to ask how long to wait before intervening. I was ready to bring the baby in if needed. But by evening, the mama returned. Relief washed through me. The fledgling was in the yard, and we watched her tending to it, guarding it, guiding it. It felt hopeful, like things were unfolding the way they were meant to.

The Morning Of Loss

Saturday morning, around eight, I took my dog out. As I rounded the garage, I saw the two adult robins in the yard — the mother and father — and a crow nearby. The moment the crow saw me, it flew off, and the robins chased after it. I knew instantly what had happened.

I went inside and told my husband, “Not a good start to the morning,” as the tears began to flow. Some part of me wondered if I could have prevented it — if I had gone out earlier, if I had been outside already, if something could have been different.

But when I went back out to look, there was a pile of feathers. It had already happened. There was nothing I could have done.

Carrying the Grief

And still, I was heartbroken. Even knowing the natural cycle. Even understanding that crows have babies to feed, too. Even knowing that energy moves, transforms, returns.

I carried that ache with me into my lymphatic flow class with Darshak N Gala. My body was tight, braced, holding the events of the morning. But as we moved through the rhythmic sequences — the breathing, the gentle movement, the process of relaxing into the body — something in me began to shift. I could feel the emotional charge loosening, draining, moving.

The Body Begins to Soften

By the time we reached the end, Darshak offered an affirmation/prayer that landed exactly where I needed it. It helped me integrate everything I was feeling — the grief, the tenderness, the helplessness, the truth of the natural cycle. It was as if my body finally had permission to release what my mind had been gripping.

And in that softened space, the Buddhist teaching on impermanence rose in me — not as an idea, but as a lived truth. Everything changes. Everything ends. Everything returns.

Impermanence as a Lived Truth

As the truth of impermanence settled into my body, another companion teaching rose with it, non- attachment. It’s often misunderstood as not caring, but in Buddhism, it’s actually an invitation to love without gripping to let beings moments and seasons be what they are, even when we wish we could hold them in place.

Loving Without Gripping

Non-attachment doesn’t numb the ache of loss. It simply keeps us from collapsing under it. It teaches us to loosen our grip on what we cherish, not because it matters less, but because it matters so deeply that we allow it to move the way life moves, remembering that this didn’t erase the grief of the morning, but it’s softened its edges. It gave the ache somewhere to go.

As I moved through the rest of the day, I kept returning to the memory of that small pile of feathers in the yard, not with the same sharp ache, but with a quieter tenderness. The morning had reminded me in a way I didn’t ask for that life is always shifting, always moving, always becoming something else

What the Morning Taught Me

While I can’t protect every fragile thing, I can meet these moments with softness instead of bracing, I can let myself feel the ache without gripping it. I can let the teaching settle into my body the way the breath does, slowly, naturally, in its own time, and maybe that is the real practice, learning to stay open to the world even when it breaks your heart, trusting something, and you know how to soften around what you cannot change.

The Robin, the Crow, and the Release

Learning to Let Go with an Open Heart

-a lived moment of impermanence and non-attachment.

The Nesting Story

The robins had started building a nest in our breezeway earlier this spring. Their first attempt fell, and when they began a second one, I asked my husband to brace it with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t collapse again. It felt like a small but meaningful act of care — a way of participating in the life happening around our home.

Friday, when the mother robin didn’t return for hours, I called a wildlife rehab center to ask how long to wait before intervening. I was ready to bring the baby in if needed. But by evening, the mama returned. Relief washed through me. The fledgling was in the yard, and we watched her tending to it, guarding it, guiding it. It felt hopeful, like things were unfolding the way they were meant to.

The Morning Of Loss

Saturday morning, around eight, I took my dog out. As I rounded the garage, I saw the two adult robins in the yard — the mother and father — and a crow nearby. The moment the crow saw me, it flew off, and the robins chased after it. I knew instantly what had happened.

I went inside and told my husband, “Not a good start to the morning,” as the tears began to flow. Some part of me wondered if I could have prevented it — if I had gone out earlier, if I had been outside already, if something could have been different.

But when I went back out to look, there was a pile of feathers. It had already happened. There was nothing I could have done.

Carrying the Grief

And still, I was heartbroken. Even knowing the natural cycle. Even understanding that crows have babies to feed, too. Even knowing that energy moves, transforms, returns.

I carried that ache with me into my lymphatic flow class with Darshak N Gala. My body was tight, braced, holding the events of the morning. But as we moved through the rhythmic sequences — the breathing, the gentle movement, the process of relaxing into the body — something in me began to shift. I could feel the emotional charge loosening, draining, moving.

The Body Begins to Soften

By the time we reached the end, Darshak offered an affirmation/prayer that landed exactly where I needed it. It helped me integrate everything I was feeling — the grief, the tenderness, the helplessness, the truth of the natural cycle. It was as if my body finally had permission to release what my mind had been gripping.

And in that softened space, the Buddhist teaching on impermanence rose in me — not as an idea, but as a lived truth. Everything changes. Everything ends. Everything returns.

Impermanence as a Lived Truth

As the truth of impermanence settled into my body, another companion teaching rose with it, non- attachment. It’s often misunderstood as not caring, but in Buddhism, it’s actually an invitation to love without gripping to let beings moments and seasons be what they are, even when we wish we could hold them in place.

Loving Without Gripping

Non-attachment doesn’t numb the ache of loss. It simply keeps us from collapsing under it. It teaches us to loosen our grip on what we cherish, not because it matters less, but because it matters so deeply that we allow it to move the way life moves, remembering that this didn’t erase the grief of the morning, but it’s softened its edges. It gave the ache somewhere to go.

As I moved through the rest of the day, I kept returning to the memory of that small pile of feathers in the yard, not with the same sharp ache, but with a quieter tenderness. The morning had reminded me in a way I didn’t ask for that life is always shifting, always moving, always becoming something else

What the Morning Taught Me

While I can’t protect every fragile thing, I can meet these moments with softness instead of bracing, I can let myself feel the ache without gripping it. I can let the teaching settle into my body the way the breath does, slowly, naturally, in its own time, and maybe that is the real practice, learning to stay open to the world even when it breaks your heart, trusting something, and you know how to soften around what you cannot change.

The Robin, the Crow, and the Release

Learning to Let Go with an Open Heart

-a lived moment of impermanence and non-attachment.

The Nesting Story

The robins had started building a nest in our breezeway earlier this spring. Their first attempt fell, and when they began a second one, I asked my husband to brace it with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t collapse again. It felt like a small but meaningful act of care — a way of participating in the life happening around our home.

Friday, when the mother robin didn’t return for hours, I called a wildlife rehab center to ask how long to wait before intervening. I was ready to bring the baby in if needed. But by evening, the mama returned. Relief washed through me. The fledgling was in the yard, and we watched her tending to it, guarding it, guiding it. It felt hopeful, like things were unfolding the way they were meant to.

The Morning Of Loss

Saturday morning, around eight, I took my dog out. As I rounded the garage, I saw the two adult robins in the yard — the mother and father — and a crow nearby. The moment the crow saw me, it flew off, and the robins chased after it. I knew instantly what had happened.

I went inside and told my husband, “Not a good start to the morning,” as the tears began to flow. Some part of me wondered if I could have prevented it — if I had gone out earlier, if I had been outside already, if something could have been different.

But when I went back out to look, there was a pile of feathers. It had already happened. There was nothing I could have done.

Carrying the Grief

And still, I was heartbroken. Even knowing the natural cycle. Even understanding that crows have babies to feed, too. Even knowing that energy moves, transforms, returns.

I carried that ache with me into my lymphatic flow class with Darshak N Gala. My body was tight, braced, holding the events of the morning. But as we moved through the rhythmic sequences — the breathing, the gentle movement, the process of relaxing into the body — something in me began to shift. I could feel the emotional charge loosening, draining, moving.

The Body Begins to Soften

By the time we reached the end, Darshak offered an affirmation/prayer that landed exactly where I needed it. It helped me integrate everything I was feeling — the grief, the tenderness, the helplessness, the truth of the natural cycle. It was as if my body finally had permission to release what my mind had been gripping.

And in that softened space, the Buddhist teaching on impermanence rose in me — not as an idea, but as a lived truth. Everything changes. Everything ends. Everything returns.

Impermanence as a Lived Truth

As the truth of impermanence settled into my body, another companion teaching rose with it, non- attachment. It’s often misunderstood as not caring, but in Buddhism, it’s actually an invitation to love without gripping to let beings moments and seasons be what they are, even when we wish we could hold them in place.

Loving Without Gripping

Non-attachment doesn’t numb the ache of loss. It simply keeps us from collapsing under it. It teaches us to loosen our grip on what we cherish, not because it matters less, but because it matters so deeply that we allow it to move the way life moves, remembering that this didn’t erase the grief of the morning, but it’s softened its edges. It gave the ache somewhere to go.

As I moved through the rest of the day, I kept returning to the memory of that small pile of feathers in the yard, not with the same sharp ache, but with a quieter tenderness. The morning had reminded me in a way I didn’t ask for that life is always shifting, always moving, always becoming something else

What the Morning Taught Me

While I can’t protect every fragile thing, I can meet these moments with softness instead of bracing, I can let myself feel the ache without gripping it. I can let the teaching settle into my body the way the breath does, slowly, naturally, in its own time, and maybe that is the real practice, learning to stay open to the world even when it breaks your heart, trusting something, and you know how to soften around what you cannot change.

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton Out here with the dogs. rustyring.blogspot.com/2026/06/herm... #anitya, #dog, #hermitpractice, #hermitcraft, #impermanence, #meditation, #zabuton, #zafu, #Zen

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton

Out here with the dogs.

https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2026/06/hermitcraft-hermit-zabuton.html

#anitya, #dog, #hermitpractice, #hermitcraft, #impermanence, #meditation, #zabuton, #zafu, #Zen

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton Out here with the dogs. rustyring.blogspot.com/2026/06/herm... #anitya, #dog, #hermitpractice, #hermitcraft, #impermanence, #meditation, #zabuton, #zafu, #Zen

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton

Hermitcraft: Hermit Zabuton

Out here with the dogs.

https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2026/06/hermitcraft-hermit-zabuton.html

#anitya, #dog, #hermitpractice, #hermitcraft, #impermanence, #meditation, #zabuton, #zafu, #Zen

#Buddhism's #ecological #philosophy frames #environmental care as #ethical imperative rather than mere conservation. Through #interdependence (#paṭiccasamuppāda), non-harming (#ahiṃsā), and the #Bodhisattva ideal, it extends #compassion to all sentient beings affected by #ClimateChange. #Impermanence (#anicca) invites #mindful engagement, not passivity, distinguishing natural cycles from #anthropogenic destruction.

🌍 https://www.fabriziomusacchio.com/weekend_stories/told/2025/2025-11-17-buddhism_and_the_environment/

#WeekendStories

Impermanence, 2018

A permanent birch plywood installation at Fortaleza de Sagres. Impermanence explores solidity and transformation, tracing a cube’s metamorphosis into a bird—earth to ephemeral freedom. Inspired by Sagres, where land meets sea and sky, the forms spiral upward, symbolizing the pull toward the unknown.

#Impermanence #FortalezaDeSagres #TransformationArt #Sculpture #EphemeralArt #ArtAndNature #SagresArt