I honestly couldn’t believe it, I found it viscerally unsettling. I  just kept wondering at how something so obvious, so simple, so friggin ancient and low-tech as sand in a jar, could be unpredictable. And then, like any good mindblown Buddhist, I turned inward and asked myself why learning a basic fact about the universe was so shocking/shaking to me. What was it about the unpredictability of lowly sand that was sending me on a mind trip?

I felt like a fool: You see, on some level, I really believe I can game the system. With more knowledge, with study, with resources, I will be able to ‘interpret rupa’ and by learning its secrets I can use it freely. I can predict the future and have the right rupa to prepare me for it. I can be on top and stay on top. I can be surrounded by an environment that is comfy and safe. This is the premise, the silent assumptions, that underlie my desire — my willingness — to be born into an otherwise terrifying, Dukka laden world.

The problem is, if the great minds of our time can’t really predict rupa as simple as sand, what hope do I have of predicting complex systems like bodies, my body, and belongings, my belongings? With sand, there are too many factors, variables, to calculate in even a basic, contained, hourglass situation — the size of each grain, their texture, the way they fall and interact together– all you can do is flip the glass and see what happens. So how do I expect to have a leg-up in this world with ‘knowledge’ that guarantees me a particular outcome? How do I expect to have control of rupa — use it as a tool to prepare me, guard me, comfort me in this life — when I can’t even predict it. How can you control something you that can’t even be predicted?

When I strip away the illusion of control, of knowing, of being able to marshal resources to plot the direction of my life, I am left with the reality that I just need to  flip the glass and see what happens. In a Dukka laden world that really is a terrifying prospect that only a fool would agree to.