Mono No Aware

By Greg Fallis

"The sound of the bell of Gion shôja
echoes out the impermanence of all things."

So begins the Japanese classic Tale of the Heike Clan. In those few words we find the expression of a worldview that suggests life is as short and as hauntingly beautiful as the thrum of a bell resonating in a courtyard. A gentle sadness accompanies that perspective. The Japanese call it mono no aware.

Nothing lasts. All existence is as ephemeral as a passing shadow. But knowing that everyone and everything will wither and fade isn't cause for existential despair; instead it offers us the chance to more fully and deeply appreciate the world now. The very transience of nature intensifies its beauty. The inevitable ending of that beauty touches and moves us. At its heart, mono no aware is about cherishing and being connected to the moment. It's appreciating what is, exactly as it is, mindful that it will eventually be gone.

Photo By Greg Fallis

The most common cultural manifestation of mono no aware is the celebration of the cherry blossom. The cherry is no more lovely than the blossom of the pear or the apple; it simply falls sooner. The brevity of its existence gives it a tragic beauty. Every moment of its short life is filled with heart-aching poignancy. It buds, it blooms, its petals fall softly, quietly to the ground and decay. And there is beauty in each brief moment.

Brevity is relative, of course. An ancient, gnarled pine will outlive the cherry blossom by centuries, yet its life span is but the blink of an eye to the stone mountain on which it grows. That mountain too will someday erode. It is as impermanent as the cherry blossom, as momentary as the ringing of a bell, and just as lovely, just as precious.

Photo By Louise LeGresley

Although mono no aware is a Japanese phrase, the concept is universal. Something of the same notion can be found in Virgil's Aeneid. Having survived the destruction of Troy and a deadly sea voyage in search of a new home, Aeneas and his people arrive in Carthage. There, in a newly-built temple, they find frescoes celebrating the Trojan War...the war they'd recently lost. On seeing the frescoes, Aeneas says "...sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt." These are the tears of things, and our mortality touches the heart. Even a legendary city like Troy lasts only a moment, and the lives of individual people are as short-lived as gnats.

The frescoes depicting the destruction of Troy have been destroyed in turn. Carthage was no more permanent than Troy. The photographs we take will last no longer than the Carthaginian frescoes. All attempts to freeze the moment are futile...but there is also beauty in the attempt.

Photo By Catherine Jamieson

We are haunted by all the moments that have passed, the great moments and the small. A dusty cigar box resting on the dashboard of an old car stored in a shed reveals such a moment. It doesn't matter who sat in the car and smoked the cigars, it doesn't matter what things were said or what thoughts were considered; what matters is knowing the moment took place and now is forever gone.

It's a pleasurable sadness. Although the moment has long since passed, it continues to resonate. We can feel that moment in our bones, like the lingering, melancholy tone of a bell echoing through the courtyard at Gion shôja.