It’s not as morbid as it sounds. In fact, it’s not morbid at all. I have asked Death to be my teacher, to teach me how to live, and, when the time comes, how to die.
When I was practicing taekwondo, I did not like sparring at all. Padded up like Pillsbury dough boys, we kicked and punched at each other hoping to get points and win a match. This was not my orientation to martial arts at all. (I later switched to kung fu and absolutely loved sparring – but that story is not germane to this post.) My basic approach to taekwondo sparring was survival. “Forget points and winning – just let me get through this in one piece.” Over time I learned a helpful strategy. Instead of trying to stay out of range of an opponent with long legs and powerful kicks, I found that the safest place was right up close. It’s very difficult to kick someone who is basically glued to your chest pad. I didn’t win any matches, but sparring was no longer so terrifying.
Exploring the way we handle death in this culture is a fascinating topic that requires books rather than a brief blog post, but I think we can all agree that no matter how we think about it (or don’t think about it), death is an inevitable occurrence in this plane of existence. We can fear it, fight it, ignore it, even deny it, but any honest observation of nature affirms that what manifests in time will end in time.
With this in mind, and after encountering death a few times in my life, I decided to engage death in a relationship of respectful apprenticeship, modeled after an apprenticeship I did with grief in 2019. Leaning in close and learning from those aspects of life that I find challenging or frightening has been a deeply meaningful practice for me. We all deal with difficult things in our own way, so I’m not suggesting that my approach is for everyone, but it seems to work well for me.
To begin with, I got a journal to record thoughts, quotes, questions, and such. And, to give some direction, I’ve got a stack of books to read. I’ll share some things from time to time on the blog. Here is the journal entry I started with:
Star Trek got it wrong. Space is not the final frontier. Nor are the darkest ocean depths. No, the final frontier is Death. There are no maps or directions. No photos or postcards. No GPS. Yet every possible path we take through life will inevitably lead us there. From the moment we draw our first breath, we move ever closer to our last. Welcome or unwelcome, Death accompanies us through each incarnation, and, when the time is right, and only then, Death calls us home. Who, then, could know more about Life than Death, who sees it all, from before the beginning to after the end (understanding that there really is no distinction between beginning and end)? So here I am, to bow before Death, the master teacher, and ask how best to live. With an almost imperceptible nod, Death turns and beckons me to follow.
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Thanks, Deirdre
Yes, absolutely!
Thanks, Jackie
an engaging topic, well framed. look forward to more!
Thanks David
Love this 😘
Thanks Becky!
For the last few years I’ve been thinking about and reading books about death and dying, including Raymond Moody’s Life After Life. This interest was spurred on by two people I volunteered with dying, who I had a strong connection with, plus during a bereavement counselling course I did, and after I found a next door neighbour dead on his sofa. I’ve listened to many people, including doctors, talk about their near death experiences in great detail, I’ve listened to many accounts with so many details that I become suspicious of the truth of their stories. I’ve read about Buddhist beliefs about death, all that bardo of becoming, and yet there are once again so many stages and details I find it confusing. I also had a bit of a scare with a breast growth, turned out to be benign and was tiny and was removed.
But in the end I have come to similar ways of looking at it as you. Live your life to the full of your own nature and in the flow of it, so when death comes you will have no major regrets. Prepare the practicalities, like wills and POA, then be free of that stuff. So when death comes, you will be able to look it in the eye and say, okay, you’re here, so take me on the next path, whatever it may be.
And thank you so much for sharing your perspective, Galen.
Lynne, your experiences with death of those around you plus your own near encounter (glad you’re all right), gives you an opportunity to contemplate the profound mystery of this human experience. Like you, I’m turning to my main source of external inspiration — books. I don’t know the one you mentioned, but I will check it out. I like your response to death showing up.
Growing up on a farm & living in the country, being a nurse pre-retirement, keeps me in touch with Nature. There is no life without death. Death is inevitable. In the words of the cofounder of a grief support group for parents who had experienced the death of a child – this business of dying is really about living. My last experience with human death occurred 2 yrs ago when my mom, aged 91, died quietly in my arms. There is something so spiritual about the transitions of birth & death. I look forward to hearing more from you.
You’re right, Mona. Living close to nature gives us a front row seat to observe and be part of the natural cycle of coming into form and returning to formlessness. What a lovely image of your mom dying in your arms. I’m finding so far in this apprenticeship that the counselor’s words are so true. The more I lean in to learn from death, the more I’m finding out about living.
Hi Galen… your post and the comment remind me of the lovely poem by Mary Oliver… When Death Comes…
“…. When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.”
I love that poem, Kathy! Thank you for sharing part of it. I wrote a poem once with similar sentiment, though not so eloquently expressed!