Mono no aware is a key term in Japanese culture. ‘Mono’ means ‘thing’ or ‘things’; ‘aware’ means ‘feeling’ or sentiment, and the particle ‘no’ indicates something an object possesses. So mono no aware signifies the deep feeling or pathos of things, the powerful emotions that objects can evoke or instil in us. It is often associated with a poignant feeling of transience, a beautiful sadness in the passing of lives and objects, like the glorious colour of autumn leaves as they are about to fall.
Japanese art and literature has been especially concerned with the moods of pathos around mono no aware: falling blossoms, the changes of the moon, the passing of the seasons, the plaintive cries of birds or insects, and the absence of friends or lovers.
The word ‘aware’ was first used, in the Heian period of Japan (794-1185), as an exclamatory particle to express a spontaneous and inarticulate feeling – as with the particles that we use like ‘ah’ or ‘oh’ or ‘wow’. Mono no aware has hence also been translated as ‘the “ahness” of things’. It is the way in which something affects us immediately and involuntarily, before we are able to put that feeling into words – and Japanese art has often sought to present objects and experiences whose emotional impact is both powerful and obscure to us.
[ed. I woke today with the strongest sense of mono no aware - a feeling of gratitude for life's loves and experiences, and sadness at their passing. Maybe it was the way the light filtered through the blinds, or something else, but I had the sense that I'd been dreaming the feeling as well. I can remember and feel exactly what it was like to be twelve years old again and waking up on a Saturday morning... the early sun and gentle morning breeze coming through the bedroom window, soft clattering of pans in the kitchen as my mother went about making breakfast, a feeling of unlimited possibilities opening outward to the day.]
Japanese art and literature has been especially concerned with the moods of pathos around mono no aware: falling blossoms, the changes of the moon, the passing of the seasons, the plaintive cries of birds or insects, and the absence of friends or lovers.The word ‘aware’ was first used, in the Heian period of Japan (794-1185), as an exclamatory particle to express a spontaneous and inarticulate feeling – as with the particles that we use like ‘ah’ or ‘oh’ or ‘wow’. Mono no aware has hence also been translated as ‘the “ahness” of things’. It is the way in which something affects us immediately and involuntarily, before we are able to put that feeling into words – and Japanese art has often sought to present objects and experiences whose emotional impact is both powerful and obscure to us.
by The Book of Life | Read more:
Image: Jeff Kubina/Flickr via
[ed. See also: Mono no aware, literally "the pathos of things", and also translated as "an empathy toward things", or "a sensitivity to ephemera", is a term for the awareness of impermanence, or transience of things, and both a transient gentle sadness (or wistfulness) at their passing as well as a longer, deeper gentle sadness about this state being the reality of life. "Mono-no aware: the ephemeral nature of beauty – the quietly elated, bittersweet feeling of having been witness to the dazzling circus of life – knowing that none of it can last. It’s basically about being both saddened and appreciative of transience – and also about the relationship between life and death. In Japan, there are four very distinct seasons, and you really become aware of life and mortality and transience. You become aware of how significant those moments are. (Wikipedia)]
[ed. I woke today with the strongest sense of mono no aware - a feeling of gratitude for life's loves and experiences, and sadness at their passing. Maybe it was the way the light filtered through the blinds, or something else, but I had the sense that I'd been dreaming the feeling as well. I can remember and feel exactly what it was like to be twelve years old again and waking up on a Saturday morning... the early sun and gentle morning breeze coming through the bedroom window, soft clattering of pans in the kitchen as my mother went about making breakfast, a feeling of unlimited possibilities opening outward to the day.]
