Dear friends
I’m back to school. I have a lot to tell you today because we talked about kotowaza during class. My teacher asked me if I liked any Japanese idiom and I told her I like “Wabi-sabi”. Then suddenly I feel like I need to talk about the part “Sabi” itself in this article.

What is more beautiful than the beauty in decay, in sadness, in tears? It’s the ache of Sabi – 寂び.

In the heart of Japanese aesthetics, we must mention “Sabi” (寂び) – a concept often intertwined with its companions “Wabi” and “Yugen”. While “Wabi” speaks to rustic simplicity and “Yugen” is all about profound mysterious beauty, “Sabi” specifically stands out to evoke the beauty found in the passage of time, in the natural process of decay, in the sadness, in the lost, and in the inherent impermanence of all things. “Sabi” is the moss-covered stone lantern in a forgotten shrine, the faded patina on an old torii. It’s a quiet appreciation for the natural erosion. It’s the imperfections, and the gentle scars left by time’s relentless march.

For many people, the concept of “Sabi” offers solace and serenity. It’s a philosophy that embraces the cycle of life and death, which has been rooting deeply in Japanese culture. “Sabi” is finding dignity and even profound beauty in decline. It encourages us to see beyond superficial perfection and to appreciate the story implanted within the weathered, the aged, the slightly broken. In a world obsessed with newness and constant upkeep, “Sabi” offers a refreshing counter-narrative, urging us to find grace in transience.

But from my own perspective, this celebration of beauty in decay does ache. While I can intellectually grasp the aesthetic appeal of a rusted metal sculpture or a crumbling ancient wall, there’s an undeniable undercurrent of sorrow that accompanies the recognition of something in decline.

As to witness beauty in decay is to acknowledge loss. It’s the whole process to see what once was, vibrant and whole, now slowly surrendering to the wheel of time. The intricate carving on a time-worn pillar in a forgotten pagoda, though beautiful in its aged state, whispers of the artistry and pristine craftsmanship that has been slowly eroded away. The delicate cracks in a cherished matcha bowl, while perhaps adding character, also serve as a constant reminder of its fragility and a premonition of its eventual complete breakage.

There’s a pain in witnessing time flies and leaves marks on its way. It’s the very essence of something diminish, even if that diminishment takes on a new, revered form. It’s the realization that nothing, not even the most precious or enduring, can escape the law of existence. This concept isn’t just about the physical object; it’s a mirror reflecting the impermanence, the inevitable fading of our youth, the eventual decline of our own physical forms. The beauty and the ache of “Sabi” in this light becomes a poignant reminder of our own mortality, a quiet lament for what time able to take away.

Perhaps this is where the hurtful part truly lies: in the emotional resonance of decay. While we can admire the resilience and enduring beauty of something that has weathered storms, we also mourn the loss of its pristine state. The beauty of “Sabi” can feel like a bittersweet triumph, a recognition of enduring charm, but one that is tinged with a deep, almost visceral understanding of what has been surrendered. The art of surrendering maybe for all of us. How to accept the unknown and how to let go of our fear of control.

So, for me, “Sabi” is a beauty tinged with sorrow. While it offers a profound and insightful way to view the world, “Sabi” also invites us to find grace in imperfection and beauty in the passage of time. It’s an appreciation that comes with the quiet ache of knowing that even the most exquisite forms are destined to eventually succumb to the gentle, yet relentless, embrace of decay. The beauty of “Sabi” hurts because it forces us to confront the beautiful, yet painful, truth of impermanence.