What Dies
Lo Que Muere
A student describes their practice of trying to face the fear of death through stillness and intensity, and the teacher redirects them toward genuine inquiry into what actually dies.
What Dies
A student describes their practice of trying to face the fear of death through stillness and intensity, and the teacher redirects them toward genuine inquiry into what actually dies.
When the fear of death arises, my whole mouth gets dry, my tongue swells up, and it physically feels like I'm going to die. I try to meet it without fixing the physical part, but I do take a drink of water, and then it passes. That's the only thing that's shown up for me as far as fully meeting it. Otherwise, I just feel like I'm inviting the death, I feel the immense fear and contraction in my body, and then it passes into expansion and bliss. But it just keeps coming back. It's not like it's enough.
The energy of fear will always win
I don't think you can face death that way. The way is to look at what dies, what you fear will die, not by facing the energy of fear. That will always win. The energy of fear, when there is identification, will always win. You can jump out of a hundred airplanes. If you will not face death, you can take intense psychedelics. You will not face death. You might chip away at it a bit, but the way through is to have the realization that answers the question: what dies? And for that, you need to be completely in love with that question. "In love" means devoted to the truth above anything else.
Like staying unmoving when the worst is happening. That stillness.
Can you repeat that? Staying unmoving, staying?
Staying still and unmoving. That's my intention every time: to be the stillness as it's happening. And in the moment it's clear to me. I'm not being touched by this, even though the pain is very intense, even though there's resistance to it, even though the mind is saying, "I don't like this." It becomes clear: you're not touched by this. You didn't change at all through that whole thing. But it doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel deep enough.
You cannot identify with what you are
No, because you're trying to identify with something different. You cannot identify with what you are. It's not a process achieved through effort or intention. It's a realization. You can realize you are the stillness. You can't try to be the stillness. Trying to be stillness keeps you in the duality of still and not still, silent and not silent. It's an attempt to hold on.
You can realize you're the stillness, but the stillness that is realized is everything. It is also what is not still. You are the storm as well. You are the pain as well. You are the suffering as well. You can't attach to stillness and try to be it when the storm comes. You need to know the storm, understand what dies, and then the stillness will be revealed. The peace will be revealed.
You cannot hold on to it, because the stillness you know now, the peace you know now, is not the stillness and peace that I'm talking about. If you knew it, you wouldn't have to do anything. The stillness and peace you're trying to hold on to, trying to be in touch with when a storm comes, is not the true stillness. It's not the true peace. The direction is into the storm. What dies? Not just braving the intensity of the fear of death through force and courage, but through the love for understanding: Who am I? What dies? What can die?
I don't know what else I can do. I just keep trying to ask that.
Yes. Just keep asking.
Lean into what you don't yet see
I'm with the "Who am I?" and it feels clear to me in the moment. It feels like nothing dies. It's all energy. It's empty. It feels really clear, and yet not clear enough.
It's just that it's not clear enough. So lean into that, and set aside the clarity you have so far. Don't rest in "but it's clear" or "but I see." Whatever clarity and seeing you have realized so far, it's not enough. It's not it. It's good, it's great, it's valuable, but don't lean into it. Lean into "I don't have clarity. I don't see this. What is it that I'm not seeing?" Beginner's mind.
So just to get specific: when fear is arising, I'm fully in it, feeling it and asking, "Who am I?"
You don't need to wait for the fear to arise. There doesn't need to be fear for that question. And it's not just "Who am I?" It's: What can die? What do I believe I am that can die? What do I believe I am that can end? What could possibly end? You don't need fear to ask.
So the devotion is just asking that all the time?
The devotion is to really want to know, more than anything. You could say you're devoted and ask a million times, but not really want to know.
For sure there are waves of "I have to know" that are so deep I'm even crying. And then there are times where I'm just annoyed and frustrated that I've been doing this for so long.
Devotion to the question, not to an outcome
Does it matter if it takes you a thousand lives? Does it matter? Because otherwise you're trying to get somewhere.
Well, yeah. That's such a fine line. Why do I want it so badly? Because I'm trying to get something.
If you're trying to get something, if you're trying to get somewhere, you're not in love with the question. You're trying to use the question as a means to an end. You're expecting the answer to get you somewhere that you anticipate, that you have a plan for, that is not this. That's not devotion to a question. Devotion to a question is: I want to know the answer no matter what. Even if nothing changes. Even if I remain miserable. Even if I remain suffering. Even if it takes me a million lives. What is the truth? If the question is conditioned by "I'm told it's going to give me peace and everlasting bliss," that's not it. That's not the real question.
That makes sense. Thank you.
You are very welcome.