19
There are accounts of Zen masters in JAPANESE DEATH POEMS who knew the exact moment in which they would die and astonished others by doing so. We might infer that this is the ultimate in controlling one's destiny, but such knowledge is not rooted fundamentally in the desire to control. To be enlightened is to see clearly what is.

Still, as someone who is admittedly unenlightened, I fantasize not about controlling the moment of my last breath but having a say in the time and place I die. Two years ago, while spending the day at Spring Lake in Santa Rosa, CA over Christmas break, I learned that an old man had gone for a walk but never made it home. As I was leaving, I saw his covered body on a gurney in an ambulance, waiting to whisk away his remains.

December wind
on a sunny park bench. . .
my last breath

(revision)

18
Of course, we think of ourselves as unique and we are in many ways. At the same time, billions of people have come before us and billions--if the earth survives--will come after us. I find it humbling to know that, while no one else can experience "my death," all human beings experience death.

Is it any surprise, then, that I can happen upon another poet's death poem and think: " I could have (or should have) written that!" At such moments, I realize, yet again, that we are all brothers and sisters, though we may look or sound different. It is heartwarming, and my envy dissolves.

merging lanes
that other poet picked up
my death poem

17
There is no so-called right way to die. Free yourself of all wishes, hopes, expectations of a particular kind of death--a good death, a peaceful death. Such images only serve to increase, not allay, anxiety. What happens if, when the time comes, dying does not unfold the way you expect? Visions of a good death banish one from his or her own heart.

There is a quiet, imperceptible dying in each moment. We typically don't have any expectations regarding the ending of this moment, or the next, or the one after that. Death is just the next moment. Are you here now?

morning birdsong
my eyelids grow heavy again
morning birdsong

16
Death is everywhere, always present. It's not just reported in the daily papers or on the evening news: so-and-so murdered; 15 Iraqis die in a car bombing; plane crash--all 237 aboard dead. On the walk to the mailbox lies a lifeless baby bird while in the yard ants swarm a broken snail shell; on the way to work, a squirrel lies motionless in the road, having fallen as it attempted to make its way across a telephone wire. Down the block an ambulance stops in front of the house belonging to our elderly neighbor. We find out a few days later she was rushed to the hospital but died of congestive heart failure en route. The dentist says that decayed tooth needs to come out. There are ten thousand reminders that death is omnipresent, unavoidable. And, yet we continue on each day as though the path we traverse leads into eternity.

walk after rain
returning worms
to the earth

15
As I've said, early experiences with death affect the way we view and react to death. I was perhaps seven or eight when I convinced my mother to allow me to buy a couple of white mice from our favorite department store in New Jersey--Modells. I created a comfortable home for them out of a carton and shredded newspaper. I loved stroking them and watching the two little mice scurry about; they seemed so carefree.

One morning I removed the lid of the box and discovered that one of the mice lay on its side, frozen in a corner of the box, stiff as could be. I shrunk back in horror. I don't remember who it was--most likely my mother--who gathered the dead mouse up, wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in the earth in our backyard. I wouldn't go near it. I insisted that the mouse be properly buried, despite having not been to my grandfather's funeral just a few years before. Within a short time, the other mouse died, too. I found myself in a state of disbelief... feeling guilty, then numb. Never again would I go out and buy a pet of any kind.

early morning cartoons--
over and over characters get killed
then spring back to life

14
Death is anything but a neutral word; it comes with a huge emotional charge but it is, after all, a word. As the spiritual teacher, J. Krishnamurti, often observed: "The word is not the thing." What would it be like to approach death without all the associations--images, reactions, memories--that accompany the word?

This may seem all but impossible, at first glance. A meditative approach to death enables one to notice reactions and release them. Slowly, as an inward stillness spreads through one's being, death is approached with emptiness. There is a story about a professor who wished to study Zen. He visited a monastery, where an old Zen teacher greeted him and politely offered the professor a cup of tea. As the old master poured the tea into the professor's cup, it quickly began to spill over and the professor exclaimed: "What are you doing?! You've poured too much." The Zen teacher replied: "If you wish to study Zen, you must come with an empty cup."

Emptiness itself, far from something to be feared, brings one closer to understanding death--the unfathomable. Death is beyond the field of the known, remembered, conceived.

that old urn
now empty
gathering light

zen garden
nothing
stands out

13
I put off having my wisdom teeth out for as long as I could, but my dentist insisted I schedule with an oral surgeon, which I reluctantly did. On the morning of the fateful appointment, as my mate was driving me to the surgeon's office, I felt overcome with terror. I was certain that I was going to die in the chair while under general anesthesia. With growing panic, I did everything in my power to calm my frightened mind: I tried talking supportively to myself, I took deep breaths, I turned the radio dial to soothing classical music, I turned off the radio for silence. . . nothing was working.

Suddenly, unbidden, in my mind's eye, one beloved relative after another appeared. They had all passed away--every one of them--but I could see each of their faces so clearly: My grandmother, grandfather, step grandfather, uncle Morris, aunt Shindy, aunt Rose and Louis, Jean and Harry, Ida and Si. In less than a minute, my mind had come to peace, returned home.

waiting in line
with loved ones
for my turn