Contrary to what these blogs might suggest, I don’t always think about death. In fact, I recently advised someone who has made himself miserable with all the bad stuff in the world, “Don’t ruin your life that way! That’s like worrying about being too hot because it’s 120 in the shade in Libya. Worry about the heat when You are hot, and not before.” Callous, perhaps. Whistling past the graveyard, certainly. But is there not some truth in this?
Death, however, is a great teacher. Years ago, I was taking by-mail lessons from the institute set up by Yogananda, a Hindu monk who did not buy a fleet of Mercedes or have a flock of admiring women attending him. In one of his books, he remarks that monks of his order were encouraged to hang around graveyards, which in India in his day had open sites where one could actually see the progression of decay. It makes one understand the fleeting reality of life, he said, and it does. It is indeed important to keep in mind when choosing life’s path.
But there is something more, something that was brought to my mind while reading about the life of St Faustina this last week while spending several days alone at the cabin in the UP; something more than the subtext that death makes life look like the transient experience that it is. And it is this: that at death, and beyond, we are totally, completely helpless. Even the toughest guys, even the most powerful, become babies during and after death. During, in that we can’t stop it, no matter our fortitude or wealth; and after, because we have no information, no practiced way to navigate whatever awaits us after death. We are, then, literally made babies, no safer or more secure than a newborn in this world where our health and wellbeing, besides that dictated by our heredity, is entirely dependent on our parents or caretakers, and the historical milieu of the surrounding world.
This was not just an idea that I was mulling, but a sudden and emotional realization that had me frightened, because it is absolutely true. In the context of the book I was reading, heavy-duty Catholicism, this meant that we were at the mercy of God the father, the Son, and the Holy Mother. Here, although “love” and “mercy” are thrown around like flower petals, we find that we will be punished for our sins, not because God wants it, but because justice demands it. And let me tell you, in this context, we are all going to pay for our various stupidities as well as our outright crimes. Unless one becomes a saint, which we find in the life of Sr. Faustina is a tough row to hoe, we will pay – and pay, and pay.
It is no wonder that New Age religion has caught on. New Age is not anything new, but rather an amalgamation of other religions that emphasizes the good stuff. According to these ideas, in after-death, we will be greeted by relatives and those we loved, and then brought to a sort of school where we will review our lives minutely, and learn the lessons of love from them. We will be in a heightened state of awareness, so that these lessons will not be as painful as we might think, although there will be a little of that. But not too much, because we will be surrounded by love and care that is far more perfect than anything we may have had on earth. We will evolve then, and most of us will be born again to learn what we had failed to learn in past lives.
That last part could be a doozy, but at least the greater part of fear of the afterlife is taken away. I don’t know, though; in both the Catholic and the New Age cases, we are brought to a sort of justice. The latter (New Age) seems more humane than, say, burning in hell or purgatory, but who really wants the hundreds or even thousands of lives required to make ourselves pure? (In Hindu and Buddhist theology, these rebirths could be literally endless, a hell on earth.) In the simplified version of some Native American beliefs, we were told that warriors would go to the Happy Hunting grounds, but with a little research we find that it was not so easy with them either. Often, they would be tested before entrance, and if they failed – well, their souls were destroyed. Unfortunately, then, even here we are left with another sort of hell.
It is true, though, as far as most of the wise people have experienced, that the underlying structure of the universe is, indeed, love. That it might also come with some sort of justice seems nearly universal as well. We remain cautiously optimistic, but also fearful of what that justice might be. Whatever the case, death is indeed a useful thing to meditate on. We learn, for one, that this life is transitory and not nearly as important (materialistically and socially) as we are led to believe; and also that in its throws, we have no control, none, and have to have faith, for that is all we will be left with. Although death is not something that must always overcloud life, we cannot always whistle past the graveyard either. We must face the facts now and then, and hold fast to faith, which is another word for trust. The image of what we trust might not be relevant, but that we trust is, if not for the long haul, than at least for the initial experience. Then, I suppose, what will be will be, just as it is for newborns in this world.
Trust; fear; the unknown. May the love that is inherent in a mother’s breast in this world rule the next. It seems likely, if not certain. And may I not be the one (re)born with colic. FK
.
Death, however, is a great teacher. Years ago, I was taking by-mail lessons from the institute set up by Yogananda, a Hindu monk who did not buy a fleet of Mercedes or have a flock of admiring women attending him. In one of his books, he remarks that monks of his order were encouraged to hang around graveyards, which in India in his day had open sites where one could actually see the progression of decay. It makes one understand the fleeting reality of life, he said, and it does. It is indeed important to keep in mind when choosing life’s path.
But there is something more, something that was brought to my mind while reading about the life of St Faustina this last week while spending several days alone at the cabin in the UP; something more than the subtext that death makes life look like the transient experience that it is. And it is this: that at death, and beyond, we are totally, completely helpless. Even the toughest guys, even the most powerful, become babies during and after death. During, in that we can’t stop it, no matter our fortitude or wealth; and after, because we have no information, no practiced way to navigate whatever awaits us after death. We are, then, literally made babies, no safer or more secure than a newborn in this world where our health and wellbeing, besides that dictated by our heredity, is entirely dependent on our parents or caretakers, and the historical milieu of the surrounding world.
This was not just an idea that I was mulling, but a sudden and emotional realization that had me frightened, because it is absolutely true. In the context of the book I was reading, heavy-duty Catholicism, this meant that we were at the mercy of God the father, the Son, and the Holy Mother. Here, although “love” and “mercy” are thrown around like flower petals, we find that we will be punished for our sins, not because God wants it, but because justice demands it. And let me tell you, in this context, we are all going to pay for our various stupidities as well as our outright crimes. Unless one becomes a saint, which we find in the life of Sr. Faustina is a tough row to hoe, we will pay – and pay, and pay.
It is no wonder that New Age religion has caught on. New Age is not anything new, but rather an amalgamation of other religions that emphasizes the good stuff. According to these ideas, in after-death, we will be greeted by relatives and those we loved, and then brought to a sort of school where we will review our lives minutely, and learn the lessons of love from them. We will be in a heightened state of awareness, so that these lessons will not be as painful as we might think, although there will be a little of that. But not too much, because we will be surrounded by love and care that is far more perfect than anything we may have had on earth. We will evolve then, and most of us will be born again to learn what we had failed to learn in past lives.
That last part could be a doozy, but at least the greater part of fear of the afterlife is taken away. I don’t know, though; in both the Catholic and the New Age cases, we are brought to a sort of justice. The latter (New Age) seems more humane than, say, burning in hell or purgatory, but who really wants the hundreds or even thousands of lives required to make ourselves pure? (In Hindu and Buddhist theology, these rebirths could be literally endless, a hell on earth.) In the simplified version of some Native American beliefs, we were told that warriors would go to the Happy Hunting grounds, but with a little research we find that it was not so easy with them either. Often, they would be tested before entrance, and if they failed – well, their souls were destroyed. Unfortunately, then, even here we are left with another sort of hell.
It is true, though, as far as most of the wise people have experienced, that the underlying structure of the universe is, indeed, love. That it might also come with some sort of justice seems nearly universal as well. We remain cautiously optimistic, but also fearful of what that justice might be. Whatever the case, death is indeed a useful thing to meditate on. We learn, for one, that this life is transitory and not nearly as important (materialistically and socially) as we are led to believe; and also that in its throws, we have no control, none, and have to have faith, for that is all we will be left with. Although death is not something that must always overcloud life, we cannot always whistle past the graveyard either. We must face the facts now and then, and hold fast to faith, which is another word for trust. The image of what we trust might not be relevant, but that we trust is, if not for the long haul, than at least for the initial experience. Then, I suppose, what will be will be, just as it is for newborns in this world.
Trust; fear; the unknown. May the love that is inherent in a mother’s breast in this world rule the next. It seems likely, if not certain. And may I not be the one (re)born with colic. FK
.
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