Between Two Worlds
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
—Kahlil Gibran
What are we to make of our last breath? It is our most undeniably profound act, to be sure, but it is obscured by so much mystery and endless speculation. Is there a right way to prepare for its eventuality? Can how we live affect how we die?
As we’ve said, several faiths see the breath as the cord that binds the body to the soul, and that death is the untying of that cord. Others believe in the impermanence and transience of life, and that breath is merely the vehicle for this phase of existence. The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh offers, “Life is impermanent, but that does not mean that it is not worth living. It is precisely because of its impermanence that we value life so dearly. Therefore we must know how to live each moment deeply and use it in a responsible way. If we are able to live the present moment completely, we will not feel regret later. We will know how to care for those who are close to us and how to bring them happiness. When we accept that all things are impermanent, we will not be incapacitated by suffering when things decay and die. We can remain peaceful and content in the face of change, prosperity and decline, success and failure.”
But so often in our modern culture, our notions of death and dying are sublimated to the point that we become distanced from the entire act or hold the notion of it in fear and unknowing. Because of that we run the risk of missing or misunderstanding a dynamic part of being human. Just as being born inaugurates the miracle of life in this world, dying is the completion. No one, as has been often said, gets out alive. Your passing is as a natural as your next breath. Though fraught with as much mind-numbing mystery as the spirit itself, there is tremendous power in accepting its inevitability and embracing it for all it’s worth.
The breath plays a sublime and transcendent role for the dying as well as for the living. Witnessing the final breath as the living animation leaves the body is a deeply moving and humbling act. We don’t know what happens when we breathe our last, but dying demands a more fundamental kind of truth than any other experience we human beings go through. As we honor and revere the miracle of birth, so must we honor, revere, and honestly face that final breath.
Being with Dying
Hospice worker Marcella Brady helps ease that crossing over from living in this world to leaving the body and whatever comes next. She believes that the breath is as important in dying as in life. It reflects the state of your consciousness. “Consciousness during death is different,” she says. “It is much deeper when a person is dying. They are standing in two worlds, at the intersection. There is hesitation as they don’t know where it leads. It is a very intense moment when it occurs. It is about your body and your spirit separating. You don’t live and then die. It is a process that occurs through our entire life, but when someone hits the transition point I can often walk into a room and feel it. I used to be focused on the shell on the bed and I was not conscious of what was really occurring. But now if I am conscious and aware and breathing, I can feel the presence in the entire room. You can see and feel this light. It is really quite amazing.”
It is, she says, the culmination of a lifetime of experience and emotion. When she meets with a patient, all of her barriers are down, calloused layers are stripped away. There is no room for pretense, because time is short. It is her life’s work to help that patient with life’s inevitable final act. It is her mission to guide him or her through the most peaceful, dignified death possible, the way he or she intends it to happen.
Regardless of what is happening physiologically, there are many of types of breathing during the dying process. If the person is tuned in to what is happening, the breath moves easily. It may be erratic, but easy. If the person is disconnected, or has unfinished business in this life, whether from yesterday or from eighty years ago, the breath is troubled and comes with great difficulty. It is not about the physiology of the lungs, it is something much deeper and complex. A patient dying of lung cancer, a disease which obviously has a tremendous effect on the breathing, may breathe easily, for example, while a healthier person may struggle with every breath.
Often this is the result of fear and regret, which can play an immense and dynamic part in dying. Whenever our breathing is hampered, there is fear and we become focused on trying to control the breath. Asthmatics, when they have an attack, become entirely focused on making the next breath happen. “Dying is about letting go and allowing each breath to be the last,” Brady says. “You can’t get ahead of yourself and worry about whether the breath after this one is going to happen. Fear prolongs the process. You have to be able to let go of the breath.”
For Marcella Brady, death is similar to giving birth. If you can detach yourself from the fear, it is like labor in reverse. The transition in labor occurs when the baby crowns, shortly before actual birth. It is usually about the time a woman says, “I can’t take it anymore. I want drugs!” At this point of course, it is completely out of her hands.
The dying process has a similar transition point and can play out in many different ways, but it is often about the time they say, “I can’t take it anymore,” which may be hours or days before the actual death. It is usually painful to witness. Sometimes the person will begin struggling and breathing erratically, and then suddenly hit the tipping point and become quiet and peaceful. In the last hours that person may settle in and allow each breath to be the last with “no worrying when and if it is coming,” she says.
“The hardest part of my work,” Brady says, “is learning to let go. Being with dying is sad more than difficult. It’s the sadness and grief of the families and the unfinished business. I had once attended to a gentleman who was having a very difficult time. His was a family of secrets and unspoken emotions. He was choking and writhing. There was so much emotional baggage within the family and he had been holding it all inside for a long time. Finally he was able to say the painful things that he had held back for all those years. It was extremely difficult for him but once he had said his peace, he was able to settle in and make the transition peacefully.”
Clear and Unafraid
That peaceful transition should be our goal. Joyce Burr, who lost her husband, Dr. Larry K. Burr, an Oregon optometrist, after a yearlong battle with prostate cancer, witnessed it firsthand. Larry was diagnosed with the disease in late 1992, and despite medical and spiritual efforts that drew him in and out of remission, he succumbed to the disease in March 1993. Joyce was with him at home when he died.
“He was not afraid to die,” she says. “He had a clarity. He understood that life and death are practically one.” She became acutely aware of his breathing as the end drew near. “It was as if each breath was a sigh.” Those final breaths became prayers as she gave each one the name of one of her children and grandchildren. She pleaded for a final one for the unborn child her youngest daughter was carrying. “And he breathed the very last one. Then he was gone.”
In that instant she felt the peace and lack of regret for a life well lived. “He was,” she says, “free at last.”
Joyce recalled later the lessons she learned. “I was so relieved he wasn’t hurting anymore,” she says. “And I wanted to go with him. I felt clear and unafraid. The breath between life and death made so . . . much . . . sense. There is nothing between this life and death. Not even the veil you hear about. We have life with the body form and we have life without body form. And it’s all the same. This thing called life is precious. This thing called time is not to be wasted. We’re here to help each other’s lives be happy, easier. There are no labels on people. Each and every thing has value. It’s precious. It’s so damn simple.”
Standing on the Edge
That clarity, offers Joan Halifax, a Buddhist monk who studies the death and dying process, is vital for the dying process. “There are many stories of the ‘good deaths’ of Buddhist teachers,” she’s written. “In fact, death is looked at as a friend to practice, for it is our awareness of death that deepens our commitment to awakening and to living a life of value and meaning. It is said by the most adept of Buddhist teachers that understanding death is the bedrock of the entire spiritual path.”
Some years ago, she recounts, she spent time with an extraordinary woman who had breast cancer. “Just before she died, she told me that you can never really know what dying is about until it is happening to you in a way that you know it is happening to you,” she says. “I was thirty years old at the time, and as I gazed into her eyes, they said even more than her words did. I believe [she] was basically right. But I am now aware that familiarizing oneself with the physiology and psychology of the dying process, exploring the truth of impermanence in a deep and fundamental manner, and stabilizing the mind can well be the basis for a good death.”
In the beginning, Marcella Brady came to her patients wanting them to die a “good death” according to her definition. But she came to realize that they needed to die the way they had lived. “I have witnessed horrendous deaths that were very difficult to be a part of. But I am there to serve as I can, not to say that you should die this way or that. In my mind I see death as being like hang gliding or sky diving,” she says. “You have come to the point where you are standing on the edge and all you have to do is decide that you are going to step over. Dying is about going to the edge, letting go of the breath, and knowing that you can go one step further and be okay.”
The Adventure Beyond
Steven Levine has done a lifetime work, much of it with spiritualist Ram Dass, on death and dying. He was a friend and contemporary of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, the pioneer researcher of this subject. He builds a strong case for the fact that we’ve convinced ourselves that our intellect, rather than intuition, is the guiding force in our lives and that we can only acknowledge “that which we can know we know.” In other words, humans hold the capacity to know beyond what they can merely see, that there must be more to the totality of whom we are, and that includes whatever happens to us when we die.
“Once our culture begins to honor intuition, it will expiate the doubt that usually robs intuition of its power, and much of our worldview will change,” he writes in his powerful book, Who Dies? An Investigation of Conscious Living and Conscious Dying. “There is this aspect of us—call it ‘being’ or ‘awareness’ or ‘pure mind’ or ‘I’—that lies behind all the apparent phenomena (our body, emotions, senses, and thinking mind) which appear in the matrix of time and space. We intuit that even when we leave our body at death, this deeper part of our being is unaffected. With this basic change in identity, in the sense of who we are, death is converted from being a frightening enemy, a defeat, an unfortunate error in the universe, into another transformation through which we move, an adventure to surpass all adventures, an opening, an incredible moment of growth, a graduation.”
Hereafter
It has been a long journey, from first breath to last. What we hope you’ll carry with you is the idea that each breath we take is preparing us for the last breath we take. As much as we would like to ignore the fact, we are each of us racing toward that moment at the speed of life. Everything we will accomplish—each adventure, every smile and each tear, every sigh, every stumble—an opportunity to learn and experience is now another breath closer.
None of us knows where and how our journey ends, but there is only one thing we can do to prepare ourselves—live. By whatever philosophy, credo, or religion, we must each live our life completely, fully, without fear or regret. To do that we must seek awareness, and that can begin with the awareness of your breath, the foundation of your totality as a human being. By developing the simple profound practice of mindful breathing, you have a lifeline that ties you to every dimension of your life—to your body, to your emotions, to the thoughts racing through your head, to whatever connection you have to the world around you and to the enormity of the universe. Its power lies in the fact that it ties you ineffably to this moment, the only one that you truly own.
Living each moment is the best way to prepare for dying. Being fully aware rids us of the burden of regret, of unspoken emotions, and an endless list of should haves, could haves, would haves. We wholeheartedly believe that the secret to achieving the most from our short time here on earth—from the benefits of enjoying good health and healing and the highest levels of performance and creativity, to understanding and exploring the depths of spirituality, the impact of the end of life, and whatever lies ahead—can be discovered and understood with each new breath, each perfect breath, you take.
There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.
—Albert Einstein