I’m still doing hospital
volunteer work. And still working
and training with the Zen guys.
The training itself involves
some spiritual and self-growth work not for the self-knowledge resistant. Last month we did a deep-dive into
contemplating and preparing for death—completed advance directives, assigned
health care proxies, planned memorial services and communicated such to loved
ones.
Maybe I was an outlier, but I
thought it was kinda fun.
(I passed on the recommended
funeral home visit, however, figuring that box got checked off three years
ago. Our funeral director’s lack
of equanimity in dealing with the parents and family of a dead-six-year-old
still astounds me—you’d think they’d be used to that shit, it being their job
and all.)
At least in my own head, I’ve
made peace with death. I’ve found
a way (mostly) to live with Evan’s.
I’m okay (mostly) with dying when it’s ‘my time’ (in a “if-the-plane-goes-down-oh-well”
kind of way). And I’ve stared down
several “gee-I-hope-the-plane-really-DOES-go-down” episodes, thanks to copious
amounts of therapy, spiritual exploration and Prozac.
The death ‘deep-dive’
culminated last weekend with even more exercises, including writing our
obituary, a “just-in-case” death poem and death meditation.
(So what’s the point? Isn’t
this macabre? Not at all. It was liberating and freeing. When you’re fearless and self-accepting
enough to look your own eventual death in the eye, then you’re free to face,
and fully live, your life. Seriously.)
A couple personal insights to
share:
For one, I’ve got more time
and potential for happiness than I tend to think, important given my daily battle to
keep loss from overwhelming me and, given our youth-obsessed culture, the
gnawing fear that my chance at happiness has passed. Writing from the perspective of 95 gave me a sense of
expansiveness and potential I don’t always feel. I won’t always be where I am now—single with no active
prospects, sharing a house, figuring out my path. And much is in my power to create.
I’m also not ready to die
yet, which honestly came as a surprise given my struggle to stay positive and
find meaning and purpose. I still
have my moments (today, in fact), but I rediscovered that core that just KNOWS
I’m not done yet.
The Zen death poem (called
Yuige, which means ‘left behind’) is a tradition Soto Zen priests follow, where
they write a poem as they’re actively dying.
“Just in case” they end up
dying without warning, each New Year’s Day they write one to ‘leave behind’ for
that year. This being Zen, it’s
not a free-form exercise.
First line: Express life and
what you’ve done
Second line: How many years in this life
Third line: Feeling you have approaching death
Fourth line: Your understanding of death and its
meaning
So...just in case:
I overslept before I woke
43 years, not in vain
Time to go, no more to do?
Job well done…time for
home
