And while I certainly can speak to this topic, I have realized that with the exception of several logistical aspects to dying, that living and dying are in fact the same thing and the foundation of both is unconditional love. This is not a new idea: many writers and spiritual teachers have expressed this concept well.
As the American spiritual teacher, clinical psychologist and author, Ram Dass says:
“If I am going to die, the best way to prepare is to quiet my mind and open my heart. If I am going to live, the best way to prepare is to quiet my mind and open my heart.”
How beautifully simple and clear. Of course, the irony being, it is so simple, it is actually hard.
Our ego enthusiastically jumps at the chance to embrace life. It has lots of opinions on how and presents us with a vast array of mind bending and distracting ways to do just that. But you ask the ego about embracing death and dying and a dark cloud of fear settles in.
We seem to fear death as if it is a dark plague that lurks in the crevices around our lives, waiting to spring out and stick to us when we least expect it. Much like the villain in Harry Potter, it is this thing that should not be named. And based on how we “manage” death in our society, it is not to be seen, observed, thought about, glanced at, nor mentioned, unless absolutely necessary.
As we divert our eyes away from death — hoping that if we ignore it, then it won’t find us — we are in fact diverting ourselves from the beauty of life.
While the narrative in this section will lean more heavily toward conscious dying, I hope to make the bridge that connects the two more clear. So how can we shift our collective fear around an experience so universal that we all one day will do it?
I feel we have to normalize talking about it. And make the process as easy and uplifting as possible.
The first time I became aware of death was when I was five years old and living in Bombay, India.
It was the 1960’s and Bombay (now called Mumbai) was a city of over four million people. Today that number exceeds 26 million. As a small child, I remember there was a truck that would come around each morning collecting the people “who did not wake up.”
No one explained to me why they did not wake up. Equally impactful were the memories I had of the children who, with limbs covered in the sores of leprosy, would stare into the window of our car as we drove to school. We were inches apart, separated only by a piece of glass. For a brief moment, we looked into each others’ eyes and somehow it all felt very familiar and it also felt terribly sad. The memory of these children and the memory of those “who did not wake up” never left me.
As best I can remember, this was the first seed planted in my psyche around death. It felt terrifying and so very confusing. And as the next two decades passed, a single thought played over and over in my mind:
“Why were people out there on the streets at night, dying alone?”
So the years passed and I was now in my 20’s in the early 1980’s, and as living will have it, I was exposed to more death in my life: numerous pets, a grand mother, a friend dying in a freak accident on a highway in broad daylight, another friend dying in a bizarre airplane incident, and an older man sharing his experiences of deceased loved ones appearing in his room as he neared his own death. My heart was full of questions and yet there was no one I could talk to.
This section of the website holds the goal to create a space where we open the conversation wider than where it is today.
Given how unique each person’s death experience is or will be, I am aware of the gentle, healing power of telling stories.
For now, the conversations will mostly be achieved through narrative. These are conversations I have had with friends, family, clients and myself. I am curious and open to see how the conversations will evolve. I encourage you to use these stories as seeds to your own conversations on these topics.
I invite you to step in to this space and see if it speaks to the conversations you want to have.