Just recently two older people I knew and admired passed away. One of the deaths was very sudden, as the result of a traffic accident, and the other as a result of failing health. Both of these people lived thoughtful lives according to the call of their hearts which is why I admired them so.
The woman who died in the accident was a much valued member of a discussion group which my husband and I belong to. Although her conservative, meticulous physical appearance would lend her the allusion of being rather formal, she had a very open mind and heart and would always leave her highly articulate, thoughtful contributions open ended. She had a wonderful questioning way about her and a smile that radiated warmth.
At the first meeting following her passing we spent some time reflecting on her beautiful ways, and followed up with a discussion of how we each are preparing for our own deaths. How do we prepare for our own eventual deaths? It's not a question that typically arises in everyday conversation and not something many of us discuss unless faced with death's stark reality. There were many wonderful ideas shared by people for whom the thought had evidently arisen before and the responses were as varied as the group itself. Some focused on the details of the final celebration of their lives such as having a traditional burial vs cremation, while another laughed about the type of visitation they would want (lots of music and laughter). Someone mentioned not wanting people to be commenting on whether the undertaker did a good job on their makeup. A lot of the usual comments came up, which was to be expected. Yet it didn't take long to cut to the heart of the matter, it never does with this group.
"It's our ego that is afraid of ceasing to exist. Any real fear of death is deeply rooted in our ego as our ego comes from our drive for survival." was a much echoed response.
Another group member told of witnessing the way that love can transform even the most desperate of circumstances surrounding a death when the deep sadness and profound sense of loss that often goes hand in hand with losing a loved one serve as a means of greater connectedness. Being present to that sense of connection helps us truly realize that in the end, the sum total of our lives comes down to how we have loved in the world. And we all know it is easier to love when we feel connected to another.
A mystical understanding of death recognizes that what has come from dust returns to dust. Beyond our ego's neediness there lies a peace like no other, a peace that is always available to us when we relinquish notions of a limited self, letting go into a larger sense of awareness and connectedness.
We all left the meeting that evening feeling a little lighter, having openly shared the weight of sadness over our friend's passing by celebrating her living. "We come and we go." was the thoughtful response that I left with that night.
So after considering our recent discussion group following our friend’s death, I realized that the one comment I most held onto "We come and we go..." comes from the Buddhist idea of recognizing the impermanence of all things.
From the site Urban Dharma:
Thus early Buddhism declares that in this world there is nothing that is fixed and permanent. Everything is subject to change and alteration. "Decay is inherent in all component things," declared the Buddha and his followers accepted that existence was a flux, and a continuous becoming.
In preparation for my own death whenever that may be, I try to recognize the impermanence of all things, the ten thousand little deaths which occur every day in my own life. Whether it is allowing my hair to go grey rather than trying to mask it with hair coloring which is so hard on the environment, or being willing to smile as I sit in the doctor’s office while he diagnoses what I thought was a worrisome mole as an age spot, the longer I am on this Earth, the more I recognize that there truly are ten thousand ways that I can prepare for my own death. Yet all of them require me to acknowledge my life as it is presently unfolding and asking for my participation in it.
When our kids were very small I had a difficult time with this notion, but tried my best to acknowledge that as each little stage of development passed something was gained and something lost. I still try to apply this to each stage that we go through now as a little growing up family. Gain and loss are not concepts which occur independently, nor are living and dying, although in the western world our culture tries to deny this at every turn. Our unwillingness to acknowledge the aging process, the glorification of youth and the way we try to sanitize natural processes, shutting the aged and infirm off in nursing homes, our never ending desperate attempts at keeping up with the Jones' all represent a lack of willingness to take pause and watch as the processes of decay and new growth constantly reveal themselves to us. There is great beauty in embracing life as it unfolds but it demands of us courage and a willingness to accept our own mortality. The Japanese with their concepts of Wabi Sabi demonstrate a deep understanding of the value of seeing beauty in imperfection, and decay.
The less rigidly we hold onto things, the more easily we can let them pass, as come to pass they inevitably will. We will be better able to navigate life’s ups and downs and constant changes. By less often grasping onto things, we open our hearts and minds to the beauty that the present holds for us all. A life lived in full acknowledgment of the impermanence of all things, guided by a heart capable of holding all things lightly, grants us a power that death cannot quell. Even death, although a permanent change to life in this bodily form, continues to represent new beginnings for the one who has passed as well as for those who are left behind.
A friend of a friend of mine recently decided to have a deathday celebration for his birthday calling on all his artistic friends to write a tale of his deathday. I must admit that at first I thought it was a rather morbid idea, unjustly questioning the guy’s motives. But the more I thought about it, and after seeing some of the amazing, thoughtful and hilarious contributions, I've come to think of it as a highly creative and unusual way to go about acknowledging that each birthday does represent our moving towards that inevitable moment we each will have to face. In fact, each moment of our living takes us closer to our dying, and we live many little deaths along the way. For those involved in the deathday writing, they turned our cultural aversion to death on its ear…made death into a cake and blew the candles out in its face.
There are many ways to go about thinking on death, as many ways as there are people. To say that thinking about death is an easy task would be unfair. I personally know of people considering this with much more grace and humour than I, yet I do believe that it is a consideration worthy of our attention, as part of a thoughtful, examined life.
