Three days later
There was a change to the script and we were left
with our plotlines torn, a blank screen,
and our storyboards undrawn.
– from “Mise-en-scéne”
When we are born we are immediately thrust into the purgatory between life and death. We are never really permanent. We are momentary. We trace the earth with our feet, but then wind up under them. Permanence means that we are here too long. That ideas and wants and dreams and fears are here, but don’t really matter. They are words and notions, but in the end, nothing is gold, and nothing stays. Because, really, we are all “condemned to the history books.
Colin Bancroft’s Impermanence (Maytree Press) is not a chap of hopelessness. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. While Bancroft deals mainly with the idea that nothing lasts forever, there is so much beauty in what already exists: landscapes, sycamore seeds, forgiveness, Frankenstein’s Monster, and the beauty and wonder of dying. Because, afterall, “dying is fine,” and natural, and will come regardless of how dear you hold onto life.
So while life and all things we are used to fade into the ether, we are left to ponder the “so what” of existence. When relationships end, or flowers wither, or family passes away, we hold onto whatever we feel will give us some type of permanence, but in the end, no matter how hard we try, everything dies. Everything ends. But if we accept the beauty of the process, we can carry each moment with us until we ourselves are no more.