Death

We may think we embrace the core teaching of Buddhism that everything changes, but do we really? So many of us are distressed and despairing about the interminability of the Covid epidemic, even if no one we know has gotten sick and died.

My next posts are going to be about death. Death of beings we care about leaves a hole in our hearts, whether it’s the loss of people, animals, or a committed relationship. 

And fear of death is built into humans’ DNA. As soon as we are conscious enough to become aware of ourselves, we become aware that we will die. It’s instinctual: we want to stay alive at all costs and will do almost anything to accomplish this. This is not surprising because to be self-conscious is to cling to ourselves as living beings. 

Over the last few years I watched as my own younger grandson began to develop his sense of self as well as the fear of loss and death that always accompanies this. Other animals do not seem to dread death, because they are not aware of themselves as alive.  However, some still grieve deeply when they lose loved ones.

And if death itself weren’t difficult enough for us to deal with, our culture promotes its horror in books, movies, and the internet. In 2019, four of our best reviewed films were The Irishman, 1917, Joker, and Parasite, in which fear of death and the horror surrounding it was the most prominent theme.

We fear death of ourselves and those we love because we feel that there is nothing in our innermost being which is safe. But is it possible to open up to that “nothing” and realize that it does offer us the only real protection we have?  Supposedly, Hui Neng became enlightened when he heard the phrase from the Diamond Sutra, “develop a mind that clings to nothing.” Could it be that if we pour our whole being into this “nothing” we will experience a great wonder and deep joy suggested by the poet Anthony Machado?

Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!--

that a spring was breaking

out in my heart.

I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

Oh water, are you coming to me,

water of a new life

that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!--

that I had a beehive

here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

were making white combs

and sweet honey

from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!--

that a fiery sun was giving

light inside my heart.

It was fiery because I felt

warmth as from a hearth,

and sun because it gave light

and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,

I dreamt—marvelous error!--

that it was God I had

here inside my heart.

This has been the core teaching of the mystics east and west since time immemorial.  They teach that ego can die without physical death and without consciousness coming to an end and that this experience can be like “sweet honey” or “a fiery sun within my heart.”                                                                                       

I am quite happy that so many more people are developing meditation practices than in the past.  A deep and committed meditation practice gives us readiness to die to all our thoughts about who we have been, who we are, and who we might become.

Serious practitioners in Indian and Asia practiced meditation within cemeteries for hundreds of years as a both reminder of transiency and an encouragement to plunge into ego death, themselves. Ikkyu was a Japanese Zen master who paraded around his village with drawings of emaciated skeletons to encourage people to meditate with vigor and seriousness.

I am encouraged not only by the rising interest in meditation as potential death practice, but also by the serious resurgence of the psychedelic movement in our country, since Michael Pollan published his best-selling book about the contemporary use of psychedelics.  In 2018, he wrote about using psychedelics to help seekers die to their small selves.  Since then psychedelic use has been gaining traction, so much so that our own Food and Drug Administration will begin to sanction their controlled use soon.

When I was practicing meditation in the 1960s, I took large doses of LSD twice and both times died completely to “Tim” as I opened up to a timeless spaciousness.  The second time at the height of my feeling of blissful freedom from self, I heard or imagined I heard Suzuki saying to me that what I was experiencing was wonderful and that I could learn to do this myself by intensifying my meditation practice.  I did and it worked!