Alive with Death

Here’s the paradox: awareness of death clarifies life.

In my introduction to this series on The Five Remembrances, I mentioned the Buddhist practice of Maranasati or mindfulness of death and its benefits in fostering appreciation for life. In practicing Maranasati, I’m discovering that death is one of life’s foremost teachers.

So, I find it helpful to ask myself how the awareness of my inevitable death clarifies each area of my life:  my close relationships, the decisions and commitments I make, my interactions with acquaintances and strangers, how I use my time, how I use my money, what I think, say, and do. Pick any one of these and look at it in the light of your death. When I do so, I find that I have a clearer view of what is vitally important in each situation, what I can let go of, and what I most deeply desire. 

Yes, it makes a difference whether death is imminent or far off, but we don’t know, do we, when we will die. What would you change about how you live now if you fully accepted your death and the uncertainty of the time you have left? You are going to die, that is certain. When you will die is uncertain. How will you live today, knowing those truths?

Someone recommended that I consider how I would choose to live if I knew I had one year left, one month, one week, one day, one hour. So, I made a list.

Moriah, if you had one year left to live, who would you want to be and how would you want to use your time? First, I would want to spend no time trying to change the things I cannot change, which is just about everything except myself and how I choose to live. I would seek every opportunity to love, give generously, be present, and celebrate life. Of course, high on my list of how to use my time would be finishing end-of-life planning tasks for the sake of those left behind. I’d dispose of all my possessions except the essentials for the same reason. I’d hope to finish my novel and memoir because they are a kind of legacy. I’d spend as much time as possible in nature, and I’d want to write goodbye letters or have conversations with those to whom I have something particular to say. (Amusing that I think they might be more likely to listen if I am dying!)

And if you had one month of life left, Moriah? I suspect my energy would be waning, I would be sleeping more, turning inward, and disengaging from events and people. Still, if anything remains unresolved, I would like to try to resolve it, while understanding that it might be beyond my power. I’d like to flow with the process of letting go.

With one week left, I’ll be too weak to do anything but look at what’s around me; I’d like it to be nature. I’ll want to sleep and keep letting go.

One day? Love.

One hour? Love.

If these activities and attitudes become most important when my lifetime is short, are they not crucial for me in this moment as well, when my life expectancy is unknown?

Contemplating death causes me to ponder the meaning of my life. As hard as I have tried to change the world, the difference I’ve made is minuscule.

Still, every breath I take, every move I make has had an unfathomable effect, an irreversible impact. I will never know all my karma. So, while I can consciously change so very little, I am constantly changing everything. I want to do good, promote justice, relieve pain, and make peace, but I find myself with so little power to do so. However, my slightest movement, even my smallest thought, alters the world forever. What an enormous responsibility. What a paradox.

I am going to die. I don’t know when, but I want to be ready. I want, at the very least, to have my arms open to embrace death. I’d prefer for my life to be tidy, organized, complete, and meaningful, at least in my own eyes. It may be, but it may not. If death comes today, there will still be loose ends for sure.

Perhaps this year of focus on death is meant merely to clear the path, to let go of distractions so that the real work can begin. Perhaps this year is the first step, the step close in, as the poet David Whyte would say, the first step in preparation for whatever follows.

This year, I’m meeting monthly with a spiritual companion to discuss my reflections on death. I’m taking a Death Education Course and preparing all the appropriate legal and legacy documents. I’m trying to pare down my material belongings and my organizational commitments to open space and free up time for the essential. I hope to practice letting go of pet beliefs, projects, and habits in myriad situations every day.

I’ve been a Gandhi fan since early adulthood, especially attracted to his principle of the unity of means and ends: “the means are the ends, the path is the destination.” If the means are the ends, then living well is not separate from preparing to die. If the path is the destination, every attentive moment, every time I let go, every act of love foreshadows the way I will die.

Death is not only in store for me at the end of life; it is showing me, here and now, how to live.

Questions for Reflection: If you knew you had one year left to live, what would you stop doing? What would you begin? If you had only one day left, what would matter most? If you had only one hour?

Open or Shut

In the last post, I wrote about practicing for the ultimate let go at death by letting go regularly in daily life. The notion is that we get better at letting go the more we do it. Before further exploring the wisdom of letting go, I want to explore a phenomenon that often accompanies it—the experience of shutting or closing down.

Letting go implies some degree of attachment or clinging. Releasing our hold on something is frequently a viscerally painful experience. Relinquishing our illusion of control can seem almost impossible. We think we’ve done it, but our controlling behavior insidiously creeps back in. Letting go of cherished hopes and expectations brings feelings of loss, disappointment, and grief. Setting free those we love can feel like ripping our hearts out. Letting go can provoke anxiety and fear—a sense of lostness, vulnerability, and meaninglessness. All of these feelings, I suspect, are also common as we approach death. The supreme challenge in letting go is to stay open, receptive, and hopeful instead of closing or shutting down and donning the protective armor of fantasy, cynicism, or denial.  

Let’s bring it closer to home with an example. You offer an idea to a group of your peers. It’s an idea born of years of experience and hours of careful thought about the problem you’re all trying to solve. Your group has struggled with this problem for a long time and made no progress. Your idea seems bold and a little far-fetched, perhaps intuitive rather than logical, but you can think of no other way. Not only does the group reject your suggestion without seriously considering it, but they ridicule you for offering such a risky proposal. They are sure you’re mistaken.

Okay, you think, just let it go. This suggestion is the best I have to offer; now, I must let go and let whatever happens happen. You relinquish control and wait, but not with a feeling of open anticipation and hopefulness. Instead, you shut down, you can’t stay open to the ideas of others, and you can’t entertain any new ones of your own. You may feel rejected and withdraw physically or emotionally. You close down—put on a defensive armor that blocks your participation in life’s miraculous, ever-changing flow.

Authentically staying open after genuinely letting go is one of the most elusive of human responses. Three orientations may promote this precious openness. They were suggested to me by the poet and philosopher David Whyte, the Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön, and the Christian saint Julian of Norwich. I can’t decide if these attitudes have a hierarchy of value, so I will offer them alphabetically by first name.

David Whyte. Recently, a friend told me about his book Consolations, first published in 2015 but which I had not encountered before a couple of weeks ago. It is a series of reflections on the meaning of various words. Oddly enough, his reflection on silence is the one that gives me a clue about how to stay open after letting go.

“Reality met on its own terms demands absolute presence, and absolute giving away…a rested giving in and giving up; another identity braver, more generous and more here than the one looking hungrily for the easy, unearned answer.” [Page 116]

“…braver, more generous, and more here.” The ability to remain bravely and generously present in the reality of each moment brings about the stance of openness. It is much easier, perhaps only ever possible, to welcome what is happening here and now.

Julian of Norwich. An anchoress in the Middle Ages, Julian famously wrote in her Revelations of Divine Love, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” The phrase expresses a generalized hope that everything will ultimately turn out not only okay but well and beautifully. Specific hope for a particular outcome may be doomed to disappointment, but general hope in the goodness of life and death enables one to stay open after letting go.

Pema Chödrön. One of Chödrön’s prevailing themes across all her writing is learning to be comfortable with the natural human condition of groundlessness—accepting and familiarizing oneself with uncertainty and feeling safe amid constant change. Buddhists call it impermanence, one of the Three Universal Truths of Buddhist philosophy—safety without control.

So, as I write and we think together about letting go without shutting down or closing up, can we draw on the wisdom of these three guides and remain open in the here and now, with a sense of cosmic hope and ultimate safety? Let our imagination peel back the layers of our chests and gently open our hearts to the miraculous mystery that letting go will reveal.