DEATH IS REAL
by Sensei Robert Joshin Althouse (c) 1999

"My great day came and went, I do not know how.
Because it did not pass through dawn when it came, nor through dusk when it went."

Antonio Porchia

My father lay dying in a hospital bed on New Year's Eve. At midnight, all the fireworks went off. As the noise died down, I watched as my father took his last breath. In that silence there was a roar that I can still hear to this day. That moment was timeless. It was perfect stillness, a birth of sorts. Only later did I begin to feel sad at his passing.

We live in a culture that seems to have no limits. We have made so much progress in so many areas. Our ambitions are insatiable and boundless. We are so busy with our projects, we wish we had more time to get them all completed. There are a plethora of spiritual books waiting to be read. But there is one thing we haven't counted on. Death. It sticks to the tongue. We whisper the word hoping no one will hear it. It's embarrassing. If we talked to our children about it, we might be considered irresponsible.

Death is a rude awakening, the ultimate insult to all we hope and dream of doing. We can't communicate with death, nor can we negotiate with it. It is shocking that we won't be able to finish our pet project. We spend so much energy propping up an identity, a career and a good credit record so we can purchase our next house. We want security and more conveniences. We associate all that is hopeful and positive with life and all that undercuts that with death.

But according to Buddhism, death is what happens when we get what we want. We become so solid and secure and invulnerable that we have filled up all the gaps and we are like walking zombies. We have banished all embarrassment, pain, doubt and disruptions from our life so we feel completely safe and in control.

Life is actually what happens when you are embarrassed, when you let the mask down and experience your vulnerability, confusion and bewilderment. Life is the disruption itself. Letting is some uncertainty, letting things fall apart allows us to begin relating with others as they actually are. With our sad and lonely heart, we have a much keener, compassionate view of others.

So the spiritual path holds out no promise at all. It's completely hopeless. We don't want to hear this. We don't want to relate to our pain directly. Instead we relate to our struggle to conquer and overcome pain. This is unfortunately the way we often approach death. But though we have more and more new technologies, medicines and specialists, in the end they will not save us either. When we view disease as an enemy out there to be conquered, we set up a battleground mentality based on fear.

It is ironic, that all our efforts to secure a life doom us to a life that isn't ours. Only if we can let go and experience the greath death in life, can we truly begin to live. We live as we die, die as we live. We say that Buddha nature is unborn because it doesn't become something. It's really the only thing you can truly count on because it is nothing at all, not somebody, no so-and-so. What is born, dies. What is put together, breaks down. Buddha nature does not begin with our birth, nor does it end with our death. It is an awareness with no dimension, no space, no time. When we let go into this radical impermanence, we can begin to embrace the sanity of the Bodhisattva vow to save all sentient beings. Such an engaged commitment is freedom and joy. As Thomas Merton put it so well, "The death by which we enter into life is not an escape from reality but a complete gift of ourselves which involves a total commitment to reality." We are so fortunate to have the opportunity to wak up. Please don't squander that opportunity by procrastinating in your spiritual practice.