The Aliveness of Death
La Viveza de la Muerte
A student reflects on attending a funeral and supporting grieving friends, which opens into a conversation about what becomes real in the presence of death, the difference between deep desire and egoic wanting, and whether simply staring out the window might be enough.
The Aliveness of Death
A student reflects on attending a funeral and supporting grieving friends, which opens into a conversation about what becomes real in the presence of death, the difference between deep desire and egoic wanting, and whether simply staring out the window might be enough.
I went to a funeral yesterday, and on the same day, another friend's mother died. So I've been with two different people who have just lost a parent, on two different days. It's been quite a strange experience, quite exhausting, but also quite like watching. The aliveness of death is what I want to say. I remember when my mum died, I went to the hospice, and there was an evening where you could just sit, and all these people were there simply to listen to what you wanted to say and share. I said to the volunteer, "Why do you do this?" And she said, "It's just a beautiful thing to hear people talk about people they've lost." There's this real presence. We all get real, I think. In a weird way, it's refreshing to be around, because there's nothing else but what's real.
I was also interested in what you were saying earlier about how, rather than addiction, there can be a kind of obsessive thinking around mission or purpose. On the one hand, I remember you once said to me, "Ask yourself what the universe wants to do, or be, as you." But on the other hand, I think you were saying that if you're obsessively thinking, "I've got to save the world," that's almost a workaholic, addictive kind of thinking. What's actually wrong with just staring out the window? Just sitting and being. Maybe that's all that's needed until something arises. I guess I'm interested in what the world would look like if we were a bit healthier and less neurotic about everything.
I wonder that myself.
I think you put it quite well that I'm saying two different things. I'm trying to talk about something that's hard to put into words, because if you make it too explicit, it can become a known method, and that's problematic. You could say there's the desire that's egoic and then the desire that's of self. But I hesitate to speak that way, because then it creates a map of "there's an ego and there's a self," and it's a lot more mysterious than that.
Desire that doesn't come from something missing
When I say the universe, as you, has wants or desires, that could very well be to stare out the window right now. I'm not speaking about any kind of grand vision or mission. In fact, it's most likely really simple. And it's not a thing you can write down, because it's alive. At any moment it could be: stare out the window, make tea, go to work. That's what one of the Zen stories addresses: "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water." Something fundamentally changes, but you can't describe it. Something deeper is operating.
Carrying death on your shoulder
The Sufis say to carry death on your shoulder. That awareness is what wakes up when you're at a funeral. We are all, in a sense, juggling this, trying to see where to put it. At a funeral it becomes something explicitly in the foreground. We're all in a social setting where death is what we are present with, what we're talking about, where the attention is. The whole social setting flips. On one side, you never talk about it. It's rude if you mention it, or if you say anything it's dark, possibly offensive. Then suddenly it's permitted. It's okay to talk about it, okay to contemplate, okay to share. And that's beautiful, because death is one of the most mysterious and most important things.
The connection between death and deep wanting
These two things are very related. When you are in touch with death, you're most likely going to be in touch with what I describe as the universal want. Because when you're avoiding death, that's when the superficial want is usually active. It's a coping mechanism, a way to cope with fear and pain. And fear ultimately is always around the sense of something ending, which is the only thing we know about death. Something ends. The body ends. That's all we know.
So the grand question of what you are here for: I can't think of a more beautiful answer than to look out the window. And then the next moment, something mysterious shifts, and what one wants is different. The quality is different. Deep wanting doesn't come from a sense that something is missing. The other kind of wanting comes from a sense that something is missing, and therefore you want the thing that fixes or fills what's missing.
Everything ordinary is extraordinary
The deep wanting is just infinitely creative, relational, intimate. Even staring out the window is a creative act. You're watching creation unfold completely. You're going fully into the experience of creation being created. There's no room for something missing. Then there can be a beautiful desire for living all kinds of things, and we can have fun in the exploration of that. Genuine fun in the exploration of relationship, of work, of friendship, of travels, of experiences. And fun that includes frustration, anger, pain.
That's what death really puts into perspective: how much of a problem, or how little of a problem, fear and pain actually are. It's just fear and pain. This is a well-known aspect of people who are at the end of their lives, when they're asked about their regrets. It's never "I wish I had run faster from fear and pain." It's always all the things they wanted to do but didn't, because of fear. Fear of pain, fear of fear. It's just perspective. And that might look like staring out the window. I love that image. "I just want to look out the window." It's beautiful. I'm imagining trees, but maybe it's just buildings, people. I find it fascinating to sit in a café and just watch people coming in and out. It's just fascinating.
I suppose I'm conscious, as a Londoner, that there must be some kind of cultural or societal hypnosis that makes it seem normal to always be working or thinking about work. Not all cultures in the world are like that.
Yes, it's a really strong conditioning that it's not okay to not be productive, to not be working. If you can stare out the window and you want to stare out the window, have a blast. Let's go deeper and deeper into that intimacy. Even if staring out the window is a metaphor, whatever it is.
For me, it's become really powerfully about the most simple things. Everything that once seemed ordinary is extraordinary. I used to have a really strong division between what was spiritual or sacred and what wasn't. Sacred things were the "good" things, the "right" things: being with my teacher, being on retreat, doing a practice. That all stopped, in a sense, because I can no longer honestly relate to anything as not being sacred.