In his autobiography, Speak Memory, Vladimir Nabokov wrote that “life is a slim crack of light between two eternities of darkness.” Take a fraction of that briefest spark, and we arrive at a day like today. Perhaps there is little that marks today as anything extraordinary within the span of our lives, yet within the sweep of cosmic time, as stars burn and fade, this day is as rare indeed. Its mundane paces are vivid in the context of our ultimate fate. We are here in a flash and gone the next, never to return again.
A thought experiment: suppose that we are given a cosmic exemption, which allows us to retain consciousness after we enter the darkness of death. We can look back at our lives and relive one moment in exquisite detail. We cannot know or choose which moment we return to, nor how long this visitation will last. We resume our bodies and experience again the sensations, pain and pleasure that the flesh is heir to. We can inhabit the immediate surroundings and feel the vibrancy of being alive. Perhaps the moment is one much like this one: sitting at a desk, or commuting to work on a bus, waiting for green at a crosswalk. Perhaps the moment is marked by joy, laughing with a child on the playground, or perhaps steeped in pain, sitting next to a dying loved one. Regardless of which moment we relive, and in light of our ultimate demise, who among us would not savour each passing second? Even the bitterest sorrow is held with appreciation. The here and now take on a striking poignancy, in the knowledge that life vanishes into oblivion.
This thought experiment throws into relief the extraordinary miracle of each moment, which is too often obscured in the rush and tumble of daily motion. Caught between career and family, our reference points coalesce around seemingly pressing matters and we soon lose sight of what is absolute. We meet deadlines, slog through traffic to pick up kids, slave over chores, only to collapse on the couch at the end of the day, longing to escape into the screen, which promises respite but only further frays the mind. However, as the thought experiment reminds us, we remember that this moment is an unmerited gift. Its ephemerality bestows a sacred light. Amid the hectic schedule, the fatigue that accompanies the day’s final hours, we are still children in whom the universe emerges into consciousness, the agglomeration of cosmic dust that looks back upon the stars with marvel.
That we lose sight of life’s splendour is neither an indictment of our character, nor a flaw in our design. The management of our days requires mental energy. Mindfulness is a committed practice of coming back to each moment, here and now, to savour its luminosity. To borrow from our thought experiment: it is as if we are visiting from the dead, relishing this very moment. The practice does not demand that our days be anything special. Simply being here is special. A sip of coffee in the morning. Banks of leaves that blinker the morning sun. The scent of jasmine on the evening breeze. The purple finch and its rolling squeak. Each is sacred. Most of us remember moments of joy: a recognition for achievement, the excitement of travel, the thrill of new romance. Summits of elation are accompanied by the valleys of sorrow: dreams dashed, departed loved ones, failing health. Yet, from the perspective of our ultimate fate, all of these are worthwhile, each moment an immeasurable gift that rises from the darkness of eternity.
A student once said to Shunryu Suzuki, “I don’t get far in Zen. It’s like climbing a ladder. . . for every step up, I take two steps back.” Suzuki replied: “Forget the ladder. Everything about Zen is down here on the ground.” Mindfulness is not an esoteric practice reserved for the rare few who spend their lives in austere contemplation. It is for anyone who has appreciated a sunset, who has looked into the face of a dog and found something lovely. Bring that spirit of attention to what is right in front of us and we’ll discover the wonder in everything ordinary. We drop our tacit criteria of what makes life worth living, and encounter something worthwhile in exactly what is. Mindfulness is not a superpower; it does not make us special. Rather, it is honest engagement with life, without qualification and pretence. It is openness to how life manifests in this moment, a way of embracing this miracle with openness. Most of the time, this miracle feels rather ordinary; sometimes it is charged with pain, other times brimming with delight. Whatever the moment brings, mindfulness is the commitment to encountering reality with serenity and grace, never forgetting that this day will not come again.