Reflection on Death

I haven’t written personally for a long time. Life has been busy and, though I have kept a journal while going through some difficult periods, it didn’t seem appropriate to share it. But today I woke to the news that my grandmother had died. Though she was 95, it was slightly unexpected, as there had been no deterioration in her health from her previous state.

I have been watching the video below, which perfectly sums up my mood: sober sadness and nostalgia for all the happy memories, alongside a sense of happiness and joy for my grandmother as she passes on to what I believe is her new life. She was a beautiful and kind person, quiet and an amazing artist too. She and my grandfather met on a boat from England to Kenya after World War II. They got married and built a life out there. She was a very sensitive soul, and I always wondered whether living in the tough outback of Kenya was conducive to her wellbeing.

She had three children, one of them my father, and they returned to the UK in 1963. After 45 years in the UK, she returned to Kenya to live out her days contentedly on the sunny coast. Sadly, I never got to see her after she moved out there. I had planned to see her the following year, after my studies finished. That is the problem with life: nothing is certain, and there is no security to be found in this world. I reflect on death quite a bit. It is part of my practice and helps me live in the present rather than building sandcastles for a future which may not come. So I thought I would write a post about death, a taboo and difficult subject.

When I reflect on death, I usually think about my own mortality and its inevitability, and the possibility that it could come without warning. There is no escaping it. It is a scary thought sometimes. But rather than running away from this fear through the endless distractions of the world, I have found that facing it can be very rewarding and bring a lot of peace to the mind.

I think about my parents, friends and family, and how they will become separated from me. Nothing I love and treasure will last: no-thing lasts. There has been a lot of grief over the last few years as this truth has started to erase old beliefs about finding permanence in this impermanent world. Rather than finding this depressing, as some may imagine, I have found it liberating. The old habits of building hopes and dreams on shaky foundations have faded, though not completely, and given rise to a more equanimous way of looking at the world: the world of family, friends, animals and all the other things that arise in my awareness.

This has meant a lessening of worries and material ambitions, and a much more compassionate awareness of other people and other beings, alongside a growing sense that we are all in this together. No one escapes death. However, these contemplations are not meant to sound bleak, but to motivate me to practise meditation in order to find that which is beyond death. In my spiritual understanding, I cannot escape death, but I can realise the truth that I was never born and will never die. In other words, by no longer identifying with this body and mind which I have taken to be me for so long, I can find a peace which is beyond body and mind.

To my beautiful Grandma,
Whatever goodness has arisen from my thoughts, words and actions, may it be passed on to you, and may you realise the happiness of peace. Thank you for sharing your life with me, and blessings for your new life.