Mono no Aware: The Beauty of What Passes Away

Why the Japanese Find Beauty in Transience. An Insight That Could Change Your View of Life

How awareness of endings makes life more valuable

Most of you know Nagano from the 1998 Winter Olympics, where Marianne Timmer, Gianni Romme, and Ids Postma dominated the skating disciplines in this beautiful city that slumbers in the loving embrace of the Japanese Alps. I didn’t come to skate, but to visit one of Japan’s most impressive temples: the Zenko-ji. I’ll also take you to meet an artist you surely know, though you might not remember his name off the top of your head. And we’ll take a short walk through Matsumoto, a small city south of Nagano.

These experiences bring us to Mono no Aware, a word that tells us that endings and the value of things have everything to do with each other. Now you might think, “Martijn, we’ve talked about this already.” You might think that, but read on — then you’ll understand why.

In this article I share with you: a ritual in complete darkness in the depths of an ancient temple, how Hokusai’s obsession with perfection at age 89 taught me about transience, a moment of reflection at the majestic Matsumoto Castle, and a still moment on a bridge at sunset that embodied the essence of Mono no Aware.

Understanding Mono no Aware

物の哀れ (Mono no Aware) — literally translated as “the pathos of things” — is a Japanese concept that describes the emotional response to the awareness of impermanence.

It consists of three essential elements: First, complete recognition that everything passes, yet rather than the intellectual understanding we might expect, this brings a gentle melancholy and deeper appreciation. Second, this is fundamentally about feeling, not thinking or doing. Third, unlike cultures where transience is primarily feared, the Japanese tradition embraces it as an essential element of beauty.

For example: Cherry blossoms are not deeply valued despite but precisely because of their brief bloom. It’s this bittersweet emotion that characterizes Mono no Aware, a feeling of wonder mixed with wistfulness that helps us experience the present moment more intensely.

Beauty is experienced most deeply when we realize it’s passing away.

The Ceremony in Darkness: Zenko-ji’s Life Lessons

My journey through the Japanese soul begins at six o’clock in the morning on my first day in Nagano. I make my way to the Zenko-ji temple. Just in time, I slip inside for the morning ceremony that begins at seven o’clock.

What happens here surpasses all my previous temple experiences. Even more impressive than my experience at the sacred temples of Koyasan.

In the holiest part of the temple, two rows of monks, beautifully dressed, perform a ritual incomprehensible to me. It’s as if I’m watching a moving painting. The high priest moves through different levels in the enormous space, accompanied by chanting that sounds more melodious than any singing I’ve heard before. Wisps of incense that occasionally reach my nose bring me back to my experiences in Koyasan.

The Search in Total Darkness

The most impressive comes after the ceremony. The crypt beneath the temple opens. I receive instructions to keep my right hand free for the wall and descend into the darkness. Feeling my way, I descend into a tunnel where no light penetrates. My task: to find the “key to the heavenly gate,” a metal handle on the wall beneath the image of the Buddha shrouded in darkness.

My first attempt fails. The handle turns out to be at a different height than my Western body expects. Once back at the top, I see an elderly Japanese lady looking around somewhat sadly and doubtfully. I suspect she hasn’t found the coveted gate either. I nod encouragingly to her. She smiles and I see a trace of hope in her eyes. I beckon her and lead the way. We dive into the darkness again. This time I find the handle quickly and rattle it firmly to create a sound beacon for the woman who comes after me.

When we return to the realm of the living and stand in the morning sunlight, she places her hands together and we part with a bow. We are saved. As citizens of heaven, we leave the temple cheerfully.

Shared Vulnerability

This ritual in darkness becomes a beautiful metaphor for Mono no Aware, the emotion that arises when we realize the temporality of all things. In that darkness — symbol of death — we were totally vulnerable, completely dependent on our sense of touch, and therefore much more aware of our transience. And in my decision to go back and help the elderly woman, I discovered that precisely sharing this vulnerability creates a deeper connection than any words could have done. The feeling found a place in the relationship.

That evening, back at the hostel with travelers from all over the world, I feel again how fleeting encounters gain meaning precisely through their temporality. We’ll probably never see each other again, and yet the conversation we have about our travels, our dreams, and our lives is not less valuable because of this, quite the opposite.

“In the deepest darkness, where we feel our mortality and limitations, we paradoxically also find a kind of liberation.”

Lessons from the Old Master: Hokusai’s Legacy

An Accidental Discovery

After a day on the snow-covered paths of Togakushi (a story for another time), my third day in Nagano prefecture brings me to quiet Obuse, a charming town rich in tradition and culture. My hostess, Etsuko, mentioned Obuse in passing: “Hokusai worked there,” she said, without realizing she was sending me toward a deep encounter with myself.

The Master Who Was Never ‘Finished’

Katsushika Hokusai. You might know his “Great Wave off Kanagawa”, that powerful, almost living blue wave that threatens to swallow everything while Mount Fuji watches in the distance. But in the Hokusai Museum in Obuse, I discovered another side of the artist: a man who obsessively sought perfection in his work until advanced age.

I read that Hokusai supposedly sighed on his deathbed: “If heaven would give me five more years, I could become a real artist.” The man was 89 when he died. Ninety years of trying and still feeling that he hadn’t quite reached the ‘real’ thing.

I recognize something in this. How many times have I thought: if I just learn a bit more, gain a bit more experience, get even better… then I’ll be ‘there’? Then I’ll be enough? Yet that ‘there’ constantly shifts, like a horizon you travel toward but that always remains equally far away.

Patron and Friend

The museum tells the story of the remarkable friendship between Hokusai and his patron Takai Kozan. This wealthy businessman invited Hokusai to Obuse and offered him not just money to live on, but also a creative home. Their bond was one of mutual respect and understanding. Kozan recognized the genius in Hokusai, and Hokusai appreciated the space his patron gave him to realize his vision. In their friendship, I see a model for human connection that encompasses both strength and vulnerability.

An Unintended Revolution

Also fascinating is how Hokusai’s work, thanks to Dutch traders, eventually ended up in Europe. The Dutch, as the only Western nation with access to Japan during the isolation period, brought his prints to the West, where they became a sensation. During the World Exhibition in Paris, these prints caused a revolution in European art, leading to ‘Japonism’, a movement that profoundly influenced artists like Van Gogh, Monet, and Degas.

Incredible, isn’t it, that this artist, who struggled with himself in Japan to become better at painting, unconsciously set a revolution in the Western art world in motion!

The Phoenix on the Ceiling

The climax of my encounter with Hokusai awaits me in the nearby Gansho-in temple. There, on the ceiling, he painted a majestic phoenix at age 87. Under this masterpiece I stand, my neck bent in wonder, and suddenly feel what Mono no Aware truly means.

“It’s not the awareness of transcience, but precisely the emotional response to it that deepens our experience.”

It’s not an objective awareness of transience, but precisely the emotional response to it — a gentle kind of melancholy that heightens the beauty of things because they are transient. Hokusai knew his time was limited, and every brush stroke he put on the ceilig carried weight. Each line held meaning not despite, but precisely because of the knowledge that everything passes.

In his phoenix, symbolic of rebirth, I suddenly saw my own struggle. At 43, I feel that “something is about to burst open” in my life, a kind of second youth waiting. It’s perhaps the opposite of a midlife crisis. But how does that relate to my responsibilities? Hokusai showed that transformation and responsibility can go hand in hand and that awareness of endings doesn’t limit our work, but deepens it.

A Moment of Reflection at Matsumoto Castle

After my stay in Nagano, I take the train to Matsumoto. During the journey through Nagano’s landscapes, I feel how precious the experience of time has become for me on this trip.

After days of encounters, impressions, and new friendships, I take time to experience the landscape gliding by, each image fleeting but no less valuable for that.

The morning after arrival, I bike on a borrowed bicycle from the hotel to the impressive Matsumoto Castle. The castle, one of the oldest in Japan, has stood there since the 16th century. It has seen generations of people come and go, experienced wars and peace. It feels unreal to be just a fleeting visitor in this centuries-long history.

After my visit, I sit on a bench in the sun, enjoying the sight of the castle with the snow-covered mountains in the background. The strict, geometric lines of the building contrast beautifully with the organic forms of the surrounding landscape. The castle has stood there for centuries, seemingly unchanging, yet constantly in dialogue with the seasons changing around it.

“The beauty of the moment is heightened by the awareness that it passes.”

The Beauty of a Transient Moment

As evening falls in Matsumoto, I take one last walk through the city. On the Hitotsu bridge over the Metoba River, I pause. The sun makes the mountain ridge on the east side shimmer in a mixture of pink and dark green. The river below me transforms into a dancing carpet of leaf gold.

In this moment, alone on the bridge, I feel a deep connection with this place I may never see again. The beauty of this view seems enhanced by the realization that it will disappear within minutes, never to return exactly this way again.

This is the essence of Mono no Aware, not the sadness of endings, but the intensification of beauty through awareness of transience.

From Concept to Application

In the coming weeks, I will share how these Japanese wisdoms are practically applicable in our daily lives and work. Because what I see ever more clearly is that a concept like Mono no Aware isn’t merely an expression of a culture, but a life philosophy that can help us live more consciously, meaningfully, and authentically.

The Transformation of Work

How much richer would our work be if we not only acknowledged its transience, but also felt the emotional depth that goes with it? When we work with the awareness that each project, each meeting, each moment is unique and precious precisely because it passes?

The Gift of Parenting

How much richer would our lives be if we watched our children grow up not with fear of what passes, but with a deeper feeling of appreciation for each stage, knowing that precisely its temporary character makes it so precious?

The Paradox of Mortality

The awareness of our mortality need not be a source of fear, but can become a source of deep gratitude for the here and now. It can help us make choices that are more truthful, cherish relationships that are more meaningful, and create moments that are experienced more intensely.

Perhaps that’s the deepest lesson Japan has taught me so far: not despite but because of the transience of all things, life is experienced so much more richly.

Modern Applications of Ancient Wisdom

In Leadership: What if we approached each team meeting not as routine business, but as an unrepeatable gathering of minds that will never exist in quite this configuration again?

In Relationships: How would our connections deepen if we truly felt (not just understood) that this exact version of our loved one, shaped by all their experiences up to this moment, will never exist again?

In Daily Life: What if we experienced our morning coffee, our commute, our evening routines with the awareness that these ordinary moments are actually once-in-a-lifetime events?

In Creativity: Like Hokusai painting his phoenix at 87, what if we approached each creative act with the knowledge that our time is limited, making every brushstroke precious?

The Western Resistance

In our Western culture, we often resist this teaching. We want permanence, security, things that last. We build monuments, create institutions, strive for legacy. Yet Mono no Aware doesn’t ask us to abandon these impulses. It asks us to hold them more lightly.

The castle at Matsumoto has stood for centuries, seemingly permanent. Yet it too exists in dialogue with the changing seasons, requires constant maintenance, and will eventually succumb to time. Its beauty isn’t diminished by this knowledge. It’s enhanced.

Similarly, our efforts to create lasting impact become more meaningful, not less, when we acknowledge their ultimate transience. The love we put into relationships doesn’t become less valuable because relationships end. The care we invest in our work doesn’t become meaningless because projects conclude.

Instead, the temporary nature of all our endeavors makes each moment of engagement more precious, each act of care more significant.

The Evening Bridge

Standing on that bridge in Matsumoto as the sun set over the mountains, I felt the full weight of Mono no Aware. The beauty of that moment was inseparable from its transience. The golden light on the water, the pink-tinged peaks, the gentle flow of the river would all be gone within minutes, never to return in exactly that configuration.

But rather than diminishing the experience, this awareness intensified it. I found myself more present, more attentive, more grateful than if I had believed the moment would last forever.

This is perhaps the deepest gift of Japanese wisdom: the understanding that impermanence doesn’t steal meaning from life. It gives meaning to life.

Next week: I take you to the rustic beauty of the Kiso Valley, where I experienced the concepts of 道 (Do/Michi) — “The Way” and 本物 (Honmono) — “Authenticity” along the ancient Nakasendo walking route. The Nakasendo is world-famous for its preserved old “post towns.” It was the former main road between Kyoto, where the emperor lived, and Edo (later Tokyo) where the shogun resided. The journey takes us from Yabuhara along snow-covered mountain peaks and beautiful vistas to Narai-Juku. A completely different experience from the cities behind us. We dive back into nature!

Reflection Questions:

If everything is temporary and transient, what makes life meaningful for you?

How might your daily experiences change if you truly felt their transient nature?

What aspects of your life are you trying to make permanent that might benefit from acceptance of impermanence?

How could awareness of endings enhance rather than diminish your appreciation of what you have?

About This Journey This is part six of an eight-part exploration of Japanese wisdom concepts through immersive travel experiences. The path of Mono no Aware teaches us that the deepest beauty often lies not in what endures, but in what passes away. In learning to see with Japanese eyes, we discover that endings are not the enemy of meaning — they are meaning’s most faithful companion.