The most wondrous thing in the world is that all around us people can be dying and we don’t realize it can happen to us.
— MAHABHARATA
Ellen, a recently retired woman from Colorado in her midsixties, attended a nature retreat I led in California. Though you could not tell from the outside, she was living in a tornado of grief. She recounted the devastating losses that had occurred over the preceding two years: both her siblings passed (her sister died in a car accident, her brother died from a heart attack), she lost her father to cancer, and soon after that her only living aunt died.
But her story didn’t finish there. More recently her mother had moved in with her due to her debilitating Parkinson’s condition. Her mother’s physical state quickly deteriorated, and some weeks before the retreat, her mother also passed. Ellen was grief-stricken by the incomprehensible amount of loss. She had lost all the members of her close family in the space of several years. She came to the retreat with tremendous heartache, but despite that, her attitude was inspiring. Undaunted, she was determined to find meaning and perspective in the devastation. She wished to make the most of her remaining years and not take another moment or person for granted.
Coping with the loss of loved ones is one of life’s toughest challenges. However, confronting our own mortality is even harder. Death is the ultimate ignobility. It strips away everything we know and have accumulated. It separates us from what we most love. To the ego it is the greatest humiliation, forcing the ego to surrender its attempt at control and give in to the physical laws that govern this world, including yielding to its own dissolution. In many spiritual traditions, meditation is considered a preparation for death. But how could sitting in stillness with one’s eyes closed, sensing one’s intimate inner world, serve us at the time of dying?
We live in a world that tries to deny the reality of death. In hospitals, death is often considered a medical failure. The dying are hidden away. To see a dead body is a rare event in modern industrial cultures. In recent decades there has been an insatiable quest for youth and peak vitality. Billions are spent annually worldwide trying to counter or hide the effects of aging. While an aspiration for health or long life is natural, denying the reality of death and decay is simply misguided and does nothing to prepare us for its eventuality.
Mindfulness practice offers an altogether different approach, which orients us to meet the truth without trying to hide or whitewash anything. It encourages us to turn toward whatever presents itself, including discomfort and decay. Contemplating death is the purpose of the ancient mindfulness practice called “Maranasati.” In this meditation, you explore the uncomfortable inevitability of your demise, reflecting on the certainty of death and the uncertainty of the timing. You also visualize the process of dying itself. Monks and nuns in Asia practice this in charnel grounds as a way to bring mortality close to home, to release any unhealthy attachment to our physical form, and to see through the belief in the body as who we are.
Many people who have never tried this practice assume that it must be depressing and morbid. The reality, however, is almost the opposite. It is true that contemplating death, taking mortality seriously, can be sobering, but the purpose is to inspire us to seize the moment. It helps us avoid sleepwalking through our lives and prevents surprise when death’s shadow looms or his scythe strikes out of the blue. This meditation is an invitation to wake up and not live on autopilot, assuming life will go on forever. It reminds us to be fully present and awake for each experience, to live like our hair is on fire, as they say in Zen. What would life be like if we lived with that urgency?
Reflecting on death encourages us to stop taking things for granted, to cease thinking that our relationships and our lives will continue forever. Such reflection is an invitation to be awake for each experience — such as, when we say good-bye, really meaning it because we never know if we will have the pleasure of someone’s company again. It reminds us to be fully present for each thing we encounter, each sunrise, each scarlet leaf of autumn, each step our child takes. Carlos Castaneda’s shamanic guide told him to live with death standing just behind his shoulder, as a reminder of the precariousness of this life. Can you live like that? It is life’s hardest lesson but also its greatest invitation.
In the poem “When Death Comes,” Mary Oliver wrote about confronting our mortality with an open, curious awareness. In it, she describes the potential of living with a full embrace of that innate vulnerability, writing: “When it’s over, I want to say all my life / I was a bride married to amazement.” I think of these inspiring words often. What would it be like, I wonder, to be so struck by the ephemeral beauty of this world that we wished to marry its fleeting magnificence? To be so welcoming that we scooped it up into our arms like a benevolent groom?
In any and every moment, we are given just that invitation. To behold the unrepeatable priceless experiences that present themselves each day. To not take for granted that there will always be tomorrow. The gift of reflecting on death is that it encourages us to live with urgency, rather than regret or postponement, and to be present to the many wonders of this world. Our job is to seize the moment, not knowing how much time we have left. This is clearly illustrated by a story one student, Jennifer, recounted to me:
My mom and I had a troubled relationship. She was powerful. I was powerful. We constantly argued about everything. Even as adults she challenged my decisions. One Mother’s Day weekend I called her and asked if she’d like to spend the day together. I don’t know what brought me to reach out and offer to spend the day with her. I’d typically want to scream after five minutes with her. Something inside just guided me to make the first step to heal our relationship. She was surprised, and there was silence on the line, until she agreed to join me.
The next day was Mother’s Day, and I told her we would pick her up and spend the day with my brother and his kids. When my daughter and I went to pick her up, she asked me, “Why are we hanging with Grandma?” I told her, “We’re moving on. I’m the one with an issue here, and it’s my job to forgive myself for holding anger toward her.” We had a sweet day, and I hugged my mom when I dropped her off at home. Two weeks later I received the news that she had had a brain aneurysm. She died instantly. Without the practice of mindfulness, I wouldn’t have moved through my anger toward her. I wouldn’t have healed my heart.
• PRACTICE •
The goal of this practice is to remind ourselves of what is most precious in this life and to love and treasure these things right now, since one day we will have to let them all go, either all at once or one by one.
On small pieces of paper or on note cards, write down one word that represents something you hold very dear or special to you. For example, on one card you might write “health,” on another “nature,” on another the name of a loved one, and so on. Once you have named about ten or fifteen things, people, or experiences, take some time reflecting and meditating on each one and their importance to you.
Once you finish, close your eyes and settle your attention on your breath and body as a way to establish present-moment awareness. Then imagine you are very close to the end of your life. Make it as real as possible; imagine these are your last days and hours and that you will never be coming back. Next, slowly open your eyes, pick one card randomly, and put it behind you. This symbolizes how death will take each thing away from you. Close your eyes each time you have selected a card and consider how it feels to know you will be losing that thing forever.
Continue this process with each card, opening your eyes, selecting one card, putting it behind you, closing your eyes, and imagining that this person or experience has been taken away from you. Once you have selected all the cards, sit quietly in meditation. Feel and reflect on what it is like to have all the things that are most precious taken away in this intimate yet impersonal dying process. What arises? Allow a sense of compassion to emerge, both for yourself and for all those, known and unknown, who are close to death at this time.
After you have finished, take some time to reflect or journal about any inspiration or insight that emerges. Does this motivate you to live your life differently in any way? Does it change the way you hold these things that are so valuable to you? What might you do to make the most of this wondrous gift of life that has been given to you? Reflect on any specific intention or action you might take. Is there some person or experience that you wish to connect with after meditating in this way? Embrace the aspiration to be more fully present in your life, since our time is so fleeting and our departure time unknown.
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