The Birth of Death

The Birth of Death

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Death. For many it is a topic we are but all too familiar with, and the word itself peels back the unhealed wounds of the past, of loved ones we have lost and the ordeals that surrounded it. For others, it is more of a place only reached in passing thought, for which our end and the end of the ones we love shall only come in some remote time in the extreme future. It is a difficult thing to discuss, and understandably so, as the emotions of fear, denial and terror from the loss of self can leech out like a river that has over flowed its banks. However, death is the ultimate expression of anicca or impermanence and I think it is quite important for us to understand death, accept it for what it is and pass on across to the other side of loss and sorrow before that dramatic moment we all must face comes.

Anthropologists often say, if you really want to learn about a foreign culture examine how they treat there dead. For us, here in the West, our rituals are no less odd or queer than many other cultures that we may define as morbid or bizarre. We place such a high value on the idea of self and it is so clearly expressed in the entire process we put bodies through to prepare them for burial. Long plastic tubes are inserted into the large arteries and the blood is drained into some hole in the floor, then the body is thoroughly scrubbed and washed and the physical marks of death are then erased or hidden away as best as possible. Next, we fill the corpse with formaldehyde or some other embalming fluid to hinder the natural process of decomposition. For many, they will be viewed before burial, so a small team of people apply make-up, cut, comb and style the hair and fit the deceased in there Sunday best to make the appearance of who they were before death. It is not said often, but often thought how plastic or artificial the entire process is, from the McDrive Through Funeral Homes to the very unreal appearance and feel of the body itself.

The headstones we use come in various sizes and shapes, built from rock and mark dates of birth and death, full names and sometimes a religious inscription. It is good we cherish life so much as to place so much stock into death, but I am afraid it is this illusion of self that is the cause of so much of the hurt and pain death brings. Like a dark shadow that follows us around the city at night, so death waits to meet us around any corner, unpronounced and unstoppable in its entrance in to our lives. I fear because of this I think a lot of us protect ourselves by not getting involved in life, not getting in close relationships with others because we all know at the end it must conclude. Beneath all our words, our deeds, our actions; after all our moments have past, and our lives are spent like a candle with no more wax, we all, unremarkably and inevitably must wither and burn no more.

Perhaps death may not be what we really think it is; maybe it is neither nihilistic (non-existence) nor materialistic (unchanging eternal soul) but ultimately something that resides somewhere in-between. This belief in creation and destruction, this albatross of coming into this world and hence leaving this world weights down the heart and wears down the mind. When we can accept who we think we are, is only thoughts and an ever changing body, we can see that there maybe something deeper, something, some would say, that is always there and always switched on, something that is fully engaged and engrossed in every scene and every character.

Then again, perhaps I am wrong and maybe definitions don't or can't apply here.

Death, as we know it, is only the conclusion to the beautiful gift of this life, whose pulse and breath, whose wonder and amazement can only be fully realized because of this temporary nature. The Buddha urged that we overcome this desire of self, this illusion of time and creation and to fully understand the true nature of who we are, where we come from and where we are going. I think we should make some effort in this life to try and pry off this grotes