Death

Each separate being in the universe

returns to the common source…

When you realize where you come from,

you naturally become tolerant,

disinterested, amused,

kindhearted as a grandmother,

dignified as a king…

you can deal with whatever life brings you,

and when death comes, you are ready. (Tao Te Ching, 16)

In Hispanic cultures, today is one of three “Days of the Dead.” The annual feast—dating back thousands of years—is an occasion for families to remember deceased loved ones. Favorite foods and beverages are brought to graves to motivate the return of departed souls. Family members and friends of all ages participate—children included. On the surface, the celebration invites those who’ve passed to be present again. At a deeper level, it’s a reminder of both our mortality and transcendence. The message: life is transient and death a passage—but spirit is eternal.

Asian and African cultures have similar traditions. Unfortunately, there’s no equivalent in western society.  On the contrary, death is largely taboo—avoided and often feared, much to our detriment.

On a recent retreat, I was invited to spend 24 hours preparing for my death. Through directed reflections and other exercises, I was encouraged to actually live those final hours. To replay the “movie” of my life. To make my own burial shroud. And to address some important questions: Have I provided for those who depend on me? Have I reconciled with those for whom I harbor judgment or resentment? Have I sought forgiveness from those I’ve hurt? Have I thanked those to whom I’m indebted?

I’ll confess—I didn’t like all my answers. There are certainly relationships I’d rather have handled differently. And it’s definitely time to update the will!

The experience was profound, to say the least. The hardest part was saying goodbye to loved ones. But there was nothing morbid about any of it. On the contrary, the day was wonderfully cleansing. And when it was time, I actually felt ready to die.

On the way to my “death bed,” I stopped to observe the sky, which was striped in orange and grey. What an extraordinary sunset, I thought. I’ve never seen one like it.

Obviously, my attention was heightened by the awareness that this would be my last sunset. My ensuing “death”—again facilitated through guided meditation—was equally amazing—and surprisingly peaceful. While I didn’t literally walk into the light, I did feel enveloped by love.

Much of the night was spent in sleepless vigil—which made the morning sunrise that much more remarkable. I was sure glad to be alive! I felt fluorescent much of the next day. Ever since, I’ve appreciated just about everything—and everyone.

I wonder what it would be like to live in that state of awareness? Given a second chance, what would change? What new ways might emerge? And finally: Why don’t we address those questions when we actually have time to do something about them?

I’m reminded of the reformed Scrooge, after his Christmas Eve hauntings. “He became,” wrote Dickens in A Christmas Carol,

as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them… His own heart laughed; and that was quite enough for him.

I believe such transformations are possible—without ghosts. But they’re much more likely when we take the inevitability of death to heart.

The exercise makes me much more amenable to the “Days of the Dead.” I like the idea of communing with the departed—if for no other reason than the reminder that such a fate awaits me as well. Who knows when?

There’s no guarantee I’ll get a day, an hour, or even a minute to prepare for my final passage. If that’s not incentive to live each day as if it were my last, I don’t know what is. 

(West Point, New York)

Sturbridge Village Cemetery

West Point Cemetery