26
What we know and think about death is old and threadbare. It is our own conditioning that comes between us and the raw fact of mortality. Is it possible to clear the past away such that we are face-to-face with our own finiteness here-and-now, immediately?
Maybe we will only encounter our own mortality for a minute or two (which would be a long time!). What is new--original--in regards to this up-close and impersonal fact of death? What happens? What do I see, notice?
Ah, death is invisible and so am I. I see myself turning into something akin to woodsmoke and disappearing into the ether. No trace of me remains, and I feel all together untroubled--much to my surprise.
August mist
the morning disappears
into it
Friday, July 30, 2010
25
Where does death come from? I know that this is an all together odd question to ask. My response is going to sound even more strange!
As human beings, we seem to crave security above all else. I'm not talking only about physical security--shelter from the elements. We humans seek psychological security--refuge from real or perceived criticism, shame, rejection. We need to know that we are loved and praised, admired, revered.
Death arises out of this pursuit of security. The insecure ego needs to know that it is safe from attacks both inward and outward. Only a permanence of one sort or another will cure the anxiety that accompanies insecurity.
The fact is life is inherently insecure. There is nothing permanent in life, except the fact that everything changes. To free oneself from the misguided pursuit of security is to free oneself from death.
deathbed window
moonlight through
trembling aspens
Where does death come from? I know that this is an all together odd question to ask. My response is going to sound even more strange!
As human beings, we seem to crave security above all else. I'm not talking only about physical security--shelter from the elements. We humans seek psychological security--refuge from real or perceived criticism, shame, rejection. We need to know that we are loved and praised, admired, revered.
Death arises out of this pursuit of security. The insecure ego needs to know that it is safe from attacks both inward and outward. Only a permanence of one sort or another will cure the anxiety that accompanies insecurity.
The fact is life is inherently insecure. There is nothing permanent in life, except the fact that everything changes. To free oneself from the misguided pursuit of security is to free oneself from death.
deathbed window
moonlight through
trembling aspens
Thursday, July 29, 2010
24
My father had a heart-attack while undergoing back surgery in February, 2002. As soon as he recovered enough from that operation, he was determined to have surgery on his heart again--he had undergone a bypass operation years before--in hopes of extending his life again. I knew in my own heart that he would not survive this operation, and begged him not to, but he had made up his mind. Shortly before undergoing the procedure, my father proudly remarked: "I have been a risk-taker all my life." It was settled, and I think these may have been his last words to me.
Sure enough, the day after my father was released from the hospital during the Memorial Day weekend, 2002, he died as the nurse who came to the house was examining him. He simply fell back into the recliner he had been sitting in when the nurse arrived. It was congestive heart failure that killed my father.
My dad's death split me wide open. Never in all my life have I experienced such searing pain, and I have had many losses, including the death of my beloved grandmother.
But, my father died heroically--something I have only recently let in. Deep inside I realize: If my father could live and die with courage, I can too. At the very least, I have set this intention.
gathering storm
I select a rain cloud
to ride off on
My father had a heart-attack while undergoing back surgery in February, 2002. As soon as he recovered enough from that operation, he was determined to have surgery on his heart again--he had undergone a bypass operation years before--in hopes of extending his life again. I knew in my own heart that he would not survive this operation, and begged him not to, but he had made up his mind. Shortly before undergoing the procedure, my father proudly remarked: "I have been a risk-taker all my life." It was settled, and I think these may have been his last words to me.
Sure enough, the day after my father was released from the hospital during the Memorial Day weekend, 2002, he died as the nurse who came to the house was examining him. He simply fell back into the recliner he had been sitting in when the nurse arrived. It was congestive heart failure that killed my father.
My dad's death split me wide open. Never in all my life have I experienced such searing pain, and I have had many losses, including the death of my beloved grandmother.
But, my father died heroically--something I have only recently let in. Deep inside I realize: If my father could live and die with courage, I can too. At the very least, I have set this intention.
gathering storm
I select a rain cloud
to ride off on
23
It's an interesting exercise to write down the associations one has of death, but doing so without laboring. First thought, best thought.
Death... ending, annihilation, desolate, free, sad, lonely, love, peace, serenity, loss, pain, tears, longing, wishing, withering, emaciated, numb, choking, coffin, worms, embalming, gruesome, eternity, motionless, no worries, no stress, ice cold, gray skin, skull, protruding bones, emptiness, stillness.
Death is a mixture of "good and bad"--constructs my mind uses to evaluate everything. Death is a word that attaches to other words and images. Each adjective and noun elicited a sharp, though transient emotional reaction. Within thirty seconds time I was jolted from one association to another. I felt relieved when my mind stopped associating. Of course, I could go back for more, but the list I came up with was quite enough.
In actuality, death can't encompass all of the images and ideas that I associate with it. Death is bigger than all the pictures, memories, constructions I have stored up over a lifetime. Death is as vast as the sky; Allen Ginsberg understood its vastness, and pointed to just this in his death poem, which appears in DEATH AND FAME: LAST POEMS:
To see Void vast infinite
look out the window
in the blue sky.
*******
sun-bleached sand
no beginning
no end
It's an interesting exercise to write down the associations one has of death, but doing so without laboring. First thought, best thought.
Death... ending, annihilation, desolate, free, sad, lonely, love, peace, serenity, loss, pain, tears, longing, wishing, withering, emaciated, numb, choking, coffin, worms, embalming, gruesome, eternity, motionless, no worries, no stress, ice cold, gray skin, skull, protruding bones, emptiness, stillness.
Death is a mixture of "good and bad"--constructs my mind uses to evaluate everything. Death is a word that attaches to other words and images. Each adjective and noun elicited a sharp, though transient emotional reaction. Within thirty seconds time I was jolted from one association to another. I felt relieved when my mind stopped associating. Of course, I could go back for more, but the list I came up with was quite enough.
In actuality, death can't encompass all of the images and ideas that I associate with it. Death is bigger than all the pictures, memories, constructions I have stored up over a lifetime. Death is as vast as the sky; Allen Ginsberg understood its vastness, and pointed to just this in his death poem, which appears in DEATH AND FAME: LAST POEMS:
To see Void vast infinite
look out the window
in the blue sky.
*******
sun-bleached sand
no beginning
no end
22
Not a few people are frightened by death because we are allegedly alone when we die. That is, we die alone: I die my own death. No one can accompany me on this final trip.
But is that so? Of course, no one knows the particular circumstances surrounding his or her death. It is possible that I could die in my sleep. Even if that were to happen, would I be alone?
I don't think we are ever alone. To the extent that each of us lives in the world, we are never alone: there are birds, trees, squirrels, rose bushes, daffodils, clouds, sun, moon, sky, ants, flies, spiders. To be alive is to be related. I take heart in knowing that I can depend on any number of living things--beings--to be present as I take my last breaths. The earth itself is a great being that makes all life possible. Why do you think it is called Mother Earth? If it has supported me during the whole of my life, I am confident it will continue to do so right up to--and beyond--my final moment here.
July nap
outstretched in a field
already home
Not a few people are frightened by death because we are allegedly alone when we die. That is, we die alone: I die my own death. No one can accompany me on this final trip.
But is that so? Of course, no one knows the particular circumstances surrounding his or her death. It is possible that I could die in my sleep. Even if that were to happen, would I be alone?
I don't think we are ever alone. To the extent that each of us lives in the world, we are never alone: there are birds, trees, squirrels, rose bushes, daffodils, clouds, sun, moon, sky, ants, flies, spiders. To be alive is to be related. I take heart in knowing that I can depend on any number of living things--beings--to be present as I take my last breaths. The earth itself is a great being that makes all life possible. Why do you think it is called Mother Earth? If it has supported me during the whole of my life, I am confident it will continue to do so right up to--and beyond--my final moment here.
July nap
outstretched in a field
already home
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
21
Are we inching toward death, or is death moving toward us?
Almost everyone I encounter is astonished by how fast time flies. Months seem to pass like days. But, is there really any movement at all?
If life is not a movement, what is it then? This is not a question to be answered by the rational mind. It is an everyday zen koan or riddle. If our life doesn't move, then what does that imply about death? Doesn't death require the movement of life, if we are to reach the moment of death?
Only within the framework of time does movement take place. If time stops, then life and death do not move. Don't ask how to stop time; it is not an act of will. If you realize that time is a construction, an abstraction, then time disappears as the illusion it is. You do not have to shove time out of consciousness any more than you have to push out darkness to get at the light.
What happens to death when the mind sees through the fabrication of time? Don't answer! Don't move!
in the morning
the poppy opens
at night, it closes
morning glory
here today
gone today
Are we inching toward death, or is death moving toward us?
Almost everyone I encounter is astonished by how fast time flies. Months seem to pass like days. But, is there really any movement at all?
If life is not a movement, what is it then? This is not a question to be answered by the rational mind. It is an everyday zen koan or riddle. If our life doesn't move, then what does that imply about death? Doesn't death require the movement of life, if we are to reach the moment of death?
Only within the framework of time does movement take place. If time stops, then life and death do not move. Don't ask how to stop time; it is not an act of will. If you realize that time is a construction, an abstraction, then time disappears as the illusion it is. You do not have to shove time out of consciousness any more than you have to push out darkness to get at the light.
What happens to death when the mind sees through the fabrication of time? Don't answer! Don't move!
in the morning
the poppy opens
at night, it closes
morning glory
here today
gone today
20
Near the end of the work day, a younger colleague ambled to my office and, earnestly remarked, "I fear death a lot, always have." She went on to say that, from an early age, she witnessed the passing of several relatives. I was moved by the innocence with which she shared her fear of death with me. I felt a strong affinity with my colleague and let her know that I, too, have lived with death anxiety for many years.
She asked me what has helped to allay this anxiety. I told her about numerous retreats on "Conscious Living, Conscious Dying," that I attended for a number of years where I heard many people recall encounters with loved ones who had passed away. My colleague asked me if I believed in reincarnation. I said no, but I'm open to the possibility after hearing so many others recount experiences with deceased loved ones.
In the end, I realized there was nothing I could say that would dissolve my coworker's fear of death. For her, it is the unknown that she fears most. Perhaps we seek knowledge through the better part of our lives in hopes of stumbling upon the key that unlocks the secret of death and what becomes of us after we die. Or, could it be that the unknown itself is death's way of familiarizing us with it, wishing to be befriended by us?
still summer night
I lie in bed listening
to nothing
Near the end of the work day, a younger colleague ambled to my office and, earnestly remarked, "I fear death a lot, always have." She went on to say that, from an early age, she witnessed the passing of several relatives. I was moved by the innocence with which she shared her fear of death with me. I felt a strong affinity with my colleague and let her know that I, too, have lived with death anxiety for many years.
She asked me what has helped to allay this anxiety. I told her about numerous retreats on "Conscious Living, Conscious Dying," that I attended for a number of years where I heard many people recall encounters with loved ones who had passed away. My colleague asked me if I believed in reincarnation. I said no, but I'm open to the possibility after hearing so many others recount experiences with deceased loved ones.
In the end, I realized there was nothing I could say that would dissolve my coworker's fear of death. For her, it is the unknown that she fears most. Perhaps we seek knowledge through the better part of our lives in hopes of stumbling upon the key that unlocks the secret of death and what becomes of us after we die. Or, could it be that the unknown itself is death's way of familiarizing us with it, wishing to be befriended by us?
still summer night
I lie in bed listening
to nothing
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