Riding the Waves of Life's Impermanence

I grew up in Southeastern Pennsylvania, in a small town called Yardley, on the banks of the Delaware River. We were just a couple of hours from the Jersey Shore, and I remember my parents would take us to Avalon frequently during the summer. That was the season of sandcastles. We'd spend entire days down at the water's edge, constructing these elaborate castles and forts in the sand.

But, of course, it became pretty clear early on that all our hard work was destined to be washed away. The tide would come in, and inevitably, those waves would crash in and carry our castles away. Still, every day, we’d go back to the shore and start again, always thinking we could outsmart the ocean. We dug deeper moats, built higher walls, tried every creative solution we could think of to keep those waves at bay. But no matter what we did, eventually, the castles were always taken by the waves.

When you’re a child, this feels like a small disappointment, maybe even part of the game. But as we mature in our practice, there’s a deeper lesson here—a call to recognize the impermanence of everything we build and cling to. As adults, we invest in the structures of our lives, in our identities, our roles, our dreams, and the things we create. But just like those sandcastles, all of it is subject to change, all of it is bound to be swept away by the waves of time.

Sensei Michael gives these talks after our morning sit. Join us and hear them live…

This doesn’t mean we should stop building or that we should stop investing ourselves in what we care about. Instead, it invites us to approach life with a sense of spaciousness. We can appreciate each moment, each creation, as a unique presentation of the universe—a gem shining towards us. But we don’t cling to it. We don’t sit on the shore, fighting the inevitable tide. Instead, we ride the waves.

Riding the waves means being open and present with whatever life brings, whether it’s joy or sorrow. It means bearing witness to the beauty and the suffering around us, fully engaged, yet unattached. And the beautiful thing about riding the waves is that it places us precisely where we need to be to fulfill our vow—to meet suffering and transform it with compassion.

So today, if you find yourself getting stuck, building more elaborate defenses, trying to keep the waves at bay, take a moment to step back. Just let go a little and ride the wave.