The Butterfly Effect

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The Fifth Remembrance: “I inherit the results of my actions of body, speech, and mind. My actions are my continuation.”

How do I inherit the results of my actions, and how do those results become my continuation after I die? My reflections on the Fifth Remembrance led me to explore two concepts: karma and continuation.

The notion of karma found in religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism, and certain schools of Taoism expresses the rather ominous idea that our intentions, words, and actions have consequences. Once they are thought, spoken, or performed, their consequences can’t be reversed.   Eastern religions are not the only ones to stress the effects of what we think, say, and do. Christianity, Judaism, and Islam also emphasize that God rewards good deeds and that they lead to a pleasant afterlife, and bad ones earn a negative payback.

However, as the Fifth Remembrance solemnly reminds us that we will reap what we sow, it also introduces the more affirmative notion of our legacy, or, as the last brief sentence says, our continuation after death.

First, consequences. What we think, say, and do creates lasting consequences. It’s easiest to see them in speech and physical actions, but our thoughts are the source of our words and actions. So, even our secret, unexpressed thoughts, the ones we keep to ourselves or share with only our closest confidants, create karma or outcomes. The thoughts we entertain or ruminate on eventually shape our character, and our character determines our choices. So, our thinking is important even if it doesn’t directly result in specific actions.

I like to think of thoughts as generating invisible energy. Every tiny bit of energy we emit subtly changes the world. The effects of our ideas, speech, and actions influence other beings and, in turn, give rise to further actions and effects. Like molecules, these collide and bounce in unintended and unpredictable directions. On and on it goes.

Second, continuation. If the first four remembrances are about change, impermanence, and therefore the need to let go of whatever we cling to, the fifth is about what lasts, what continues. Therefore, it points to our responsibility for the world in which we live. If you will, it reminds us of our interbeing with everything.

I have been captivated by the story of the Butterfly Effect, a metaphor of a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil and setting off a tornado in Texas. The metaphor originated with Edward Lorenz, a meteorologist and mathematician, in the 1960s and describes how subtle changes in conditions in one area of the world might affect weather patterns in distant regions. It has become a central idea in chaos theory and is now applied widely beyond meteorology. It reminds us that in complex, interconnected systems, such as our families, workplaces, towns, cities, and countries, small actions can have large, unintended, and unforeseeable consequences.

For instance, a stranger honks at me in traffic. “What an idiot,” I think. “Obviously, I can’t move.” I stew over his disrespect all the way to the grocery store, and become impatient and out of sorts, so when the cashier is slow to scan my items, I snap at her. She remains silent but rolls her eyes at the bagger. He’s a teenager on his first summer job and thinks what a rude old woman I am. He worries about the next senior-citizen customer’s possible negative attitude as he continues to ruminate on my discourtesy, so when she checks out, he throws her purchases into her bags without paying attention. When she gets home, the peaches are bruised, and the tomato he threw on the bottom is squashed. She remembers that a high school kid packed her purchases and vows the next time she shops there she’ll avoid baggers under twenty-five. She files a complaint with the store, and the manager calls all the teenage employees into his office, accusing them of poor job performance. On and on it goes.

The Fifth Remembrance asks us to live as if every moment and how we use it matters. It advises self-awareness and other-awareness. Each of us has a unique effect on the world, a unique contribution to make. As your mind hums with thoughts, your tongue flaps with words, and your hands busily build and tear down, what energy is being transmitted to the next person, the next town, state, country, planet, and universe?

Think about it. When you are dead, and your body has disintegrated, what energy will you leave behind? The Fifth Remembrance reminds us that we continue to impact our complex interconnected world even after death. Small actions ripple outward even beyond our lifetime. My metaphorical wings may create a tornado or a cooling summer breeze, war or peace, hatred or love.

Questions for reflection: What energy am I putting out into the world? How do I want to continue after I die?

Alive with Death

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Here’s the paradox: awareness of death clarifies life.

In my introduction to this series on The Five Remembrances, I mentioned the Buddhist practice of Maranasati or mindfulness of death and its benefits in fostering appreciation for life. In practicing Maranasati, I’m discovering that death is one of life’s foremost teachers.

So, I find it helpful to ask myself how the awareness of my inevitable death clarifies each area of my life:  my close relationships, the decisions and commitments I make, my interactions with acquaintances and strangers, how I use my time, how I use my money, what I think, say, and do. Pick any one of these and look at it in the light of your death. When I do so, I find that I have a clearer view of what is vitally important in each situation, what I can let go of, and what I most deeply desire. 

Yes, it makes a difference whether death is imminent or far off, but we don’t know, do we, when we will die. What would you change about how you live now if you fully accepted your death and the uncertainty of the time you have left? You are going to die, that is certain. When you will die is uncertain. How will you live today, knowing those truths?

Someone recommended that I consider how I would choose to live if I knew I had one year left, one month, one week, one day, one hour. So, I made a list.

Moriah, if you had one year left to live, who would you want to be and how would you want to use your time? First, I would want to spend no time trying to change the things I cannot change, which is just about everything except myself and how I choose to live. I would seek every opportunity to love, give generously, be present, and celebrate life. Of course, high on my list of how to use my time would be finishing end-of-life planning tasks for the sake of those left behind. I’d dispose of all my possessions except the essentials for the same reason. I’d hope to finish my novel and memoir because they are a kind of legacy. I’d spend as much time as possible in nature, and I’d want to write goodbye letters or have conversations with those to whom I have something particular to say. (Amusing that I think they might be more likely to listen if I am dying!)

And if you had one month of life left, Moriah? I suspect my energy would be waning, I would be sleeping more, turning inward, and disengaging from events and people. Still, if anything remains unresolved, I would like to try to resolve it, while understanding that it might be beyond my power. I’d like to flow with the process of letting go.

With one week left, I’ll be too weak to do anything but look at what’s around me; I’d like it to be nature. I’ll want to sleep and keep letting go.

One day? Love.

One hour? Love.

If these activities and attitudes become most important when my lifetime is short, are they not crucial for me in this moment as well, when my life expectancy is unknown?

Contemplating death causes me to ponder the meaning of my life. As hard as I have tried to change the world, the difference I’ve made is minuscule.

Still, every breath I take, every move I make has had an unfathomable effect, an irreversible impact. I will never know all my karma. So, while I can consciously change so very little, I am constantly changing everything. I want to do good, promote justice, relieve pain, and make peace, but I find myself with so little power to do so. However, my slightest movement, even my smallest thought, alters the world forever. What an enormous responsibility. What a paradox.

I am going to die. I don’t know when, but I want to be ready. I want, at the very least, to have my arms open to embrace death. I’d prefer for my life to be tidy, organized, complete, and meaningful, at least in my own eyes. It may be, but it may not. If death comes today, there will still be loose ends for sure.

Perhaps this year of focus on death is meant merely to clear the path, to let go of distractions so that the real work can begin. Perhaps this year is the first step, the step close in, as the poet David Whyte would say, the first step in preparation for whatever follows.

This year, I’m meeting monthly with a spiritual companion to discuss my reflections on death. I’m taking a Death Education Course and preparing all the appropriate legal and legacy documents. I’m trying to pare down my material belongings and my organizational commitments to open space and free up time for the essential. I hope to practice letting go of pet beliefs, projects, and habits in myriad situations every day.

I’ve been a Gandhi fan since early adulthood, especially attracted to his principle of the unity of means and ends: “the means are the ends, the path is the destination.” If the means are the ends, then living well is not separate from preparing to die. If the path is the destination, every attentive moment, every time I let go, every act of love foreshadows the way I will die.

Death is not only in store for me at the end of life; it is showing me, here and now, how to live.

Questions for Reflection: If you knew you had one year left to live, what would you stop doing? What would you begin? If you had only one day left, what would matter most? If you had only one hour?

There is no escape

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The Five Remembrances (Plum Village Version, Thich Nhat Hanh)

  • I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
  • I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.
  • I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
  • All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
  • My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.

For the past five or six years, every January, I have chosen—or been chosen by—a single word as a linchpin for the year ahead.  It’s called the One-Word practice.  The chosen word becomes the subject of intense reflection, aspiration, and intention.  My One-Words have included: slowly, rest, flow, love, write, and Wu Wei (non-forcing).

My word for 2026 is Death.

“Why do you want to focus so intensely on death?” a friend asked.  I responded that in Buddhist practice, meditation on death is recommended to foster the fullest possible experience of life.  Maranasati, or “mindfulness of death,” reminds us that life is transient and precious and we must live with intention and purpose.

My time is limited, I explained, and I want to live as fully and consciously as possible. My friend and I both admire Mary Oliver, and, particularly, her poem “When Death Comes.”

When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Like Mary Oliver, I don’t want to just pass through life as a visitor.  I want to embrace and inhabit it with amazement.

One way I am practicing mindfulness of death this year is by meditating daily on The Five Remembrances, Buddhist contemplations that acknowledge the inevitability of aging, illness, and death, the reality of impermanence, and the consequences of every action (karma).

I’ve been doing so since the beginning of January: reciting the words of each remembrance, looking deeply into their meaning, reflecting on my experience of each, and writing those reflections in my journal.  The following series of brief articles is based on those journal entries. These posts are not a scholarly exploration of Buddhist philosophy. They are personal and experiential.  I offer them in the hope that they will resonate with others—especially those who are no longer young and are approaching “The Big Let Go,” Death.