4 weeks ago, my uncle started feeling unwell.
3 weeks ago, he saw the doctor, who diagnosed him with terminal liver cancer.
2 weeks ago, he had tests.
1 week ago, he was told chemotherapy might extend his life by weeks—if he was lucky.
He opted out of treatment, preferring to spend his remaining time without the additional suffering caused by chemotherapy.
So on Wednesday, I flew with my parents from Bristol to Edinburgh to see my uncle and support my aunt and cousin.
Right before we arrived at their pretty seaside suburb, they had a visit from the hospice nurse. This nurse told them how everything was going to play out from here: she told them about the practicalities of dying, and of being left behind.
I felt grateful going into this situation that I’d spent so much time contemplating death.
Nonetheless, if you’ve hung out with a dying person yourself—regardless of how much spiritual practice you’ve done—you’ll know how trippy it is.
Here’s their form, just as it’s always been (though less healthy).
But everyone sat at the table knows it will soon become still and silent.
For them, there’s this vivid experience of moment-to-moment consciousness.
But they know one of those moments, soon, will be their last.
Death Has No Instruction Manual
Despite that nurse’s best efforts, neither she nor anyone else can tell us how to die.
In fact, the typical attitude toward death is to ignore it until you absolutely can’t.
We’re all left to figure out our own approach to death—even though it’s the one and only certain thing about life.
Many of us choose to believe in an afterlife or in reincarnation.
These beliefs can be comforting. But the problem with them is precisely that they are beliefs—and so, when it comes to the climax, many people still experience doubt and, therefore, fear.
It’s uncomfortable to consider the possibility that one might simply end.
But avoiding that consideration robs us of the opportunity to dissolve our fear.
The Zen Master’s Take On Death
Now it reveals its hidden side,
and now the other, so it falls—
an autumn leaf.
—Ryōkan
This is the famous “death poem” of Ryōkan Taigu.
Many Zen masters would write these poems when they sensed death was near.
I take Ryōkan’s poem to be a commentary on attachment.
The leaves fall from the trees in autumn, but we don’t rush around trying to stick them back on.
Yet when it comes to our own death, we feel that it’s somehow wrong.
One of the main purposes of spiritual practice is to make peace with death.
Let’s do a little contemplation together right now.
How to Make Peace With Death
Start a fresh journal entry and consider the following prompts:
- What fears or uncertainties arise when you consider the idea of dying?
- Do you find comfort in any particular belief or philosophy about death? Why or why not?
- If you hold a particular belief about death, do you have any doubt around it?
- What could you do to explore more deeply the truth or falsehood of this belief?
- If you knew you had limited time left to live, how would you spend your remaining days? What changes would you make in your life?
- What are the things you value most in your life right now? How can you prioritize these in your daily routine?
- How would you like to be remembered by your loved ones?
- Imagine a loved one wrote to you, saying, “I’m not sure how to think and feel about death. Please help me find peace around the subject.” What would you write back?
If You Need Help
I’ll respond within 24 hours.
With love from my desk,
dg 💙
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