Life fulfillment is found in the sacred simplicity of life and nature.

Wabi-sabi 侘び寂び: The acceptance and appreciation that nothing is perfect, permanent, or complete. Wabi: subdued beauty, and Sabi: rough finish.

ACCEPTANCE | SUPPORT

8/13/20251 min read

green moss on brown wooden fence
green moss on brown wooden fence

Derived from Buddhist teachings, wabi-sabi consists of three marks of existence—impermanence, suffering, and emptiness/lasting essence. As with many Japanese words and principles, it isn’t easy to provide an exact English translation, so I will share my interpretation of the core philosophy in a form that can hopefully offer strength, comfort, and guidance.

In your life, you’ve probably encountered a time when you came across something that, while imperfect to some, you found to be truly beautiful. Without its imperfections and human intervention to correct the defects, it would lose its beauty. Whether it was the way an old mighty oak tree leaned to one side after it lost its limbs from a lightning storm or a Western interpretation of the taste of a mother’s home-made chicken soup made simply with abundant love and care, they both filled one’s soul with a sense of harmony, affection, and gratitude. While the oak tree may appear as though it might collapse, or the mother’s chicken soup might never be served at a high-end restaurant, its natural imperfections unconsciously require one’s full attention, creating an emptiness that surrounds it, and realizing its impermanence, while providing peaceful memories to last a lifetime.

As you go through moments where you feel the need to possess material or physical perfection, causing you frustration, pain, or anxiety, distance yourself from thoughts of selfishness, fame, prosperity, and glory, and instead, think about what path is best, not just for yourself but for everyone. Find peace in the transience of human life, celebrate the simplicity and smallness of things, fill your soul with the happiness of others, and appreciate how life’s natural beauty carries on.

Old wooden gate creaks,
it squeaks of childhood glee —
moss now guards that song.