Getting to Know Dying as a Process
By Adam Abraham
(This essay appears in Vol. 1 No. 2 of ContinuuM Magazine)
JULY 2, 1997—Death: some people believe
there’s no fate worse than this particular idea. Others
suggest that at times they have gotten so nervous that they were
almost "scared" into this state. To still others, it is
as "inevitable" as taxes. The subject of death is
unspeakable for many people who would rather not think of their
own passing, though they would take great interest in the death
of someone they do not know. And on the last point, we can stay
without equivocation that it is more inevitable than
taxes. Try, as we might, there will be no "loopholes"
when one’s "time" has come.
Death is perhaps the most feared idea that we can conceive, as well as the most fascinating. Though love and commitment might be feared as much as dying, it would be for entirely different reasons. Fears of love and commitment are social in nature. The fear of dying is primal, for it challenges our very existence. As such, death, and its related phobia, fears of abandonment and loss can sometimes be an Achilles’ heel to our character, compromising our responsiveness to the Soul’s urgings.
Let’s state right now that no one is going to overcome his or her fear of dying by way of intellectual conversation. However, it’s a good place to start, for a dialogue on the subject forces us to ponder questions of being, that we may come to some kind of conclusion as to who, what, and where we "are," as well as where we may be going. The truth that we eventually arrive at may not be "absolute," but it can be sufficiently intelligent enough to quell our fear, thereby releasing a new level of energy into our custody.
We fear death for any number of reasons, all of which are ultimately related to the issue of existence. Pain, illness, tragedy and evil are peripheral factors to our death conundrum, as are matters of accident and fate.
Perceptually speaking there are many "bad" ways to die but very few "good" ones. And the really "good" ways to die generally involve "going down" while doing battle with evil: staring it in the eye and not blinking. Perceived mostly as an ignoble end, the prevailing response to dying is sadness. The prevailing belief is of irrevocable loss. Are these perceptions really appropriate?
Our perceptions about death lead us to fundamental questions. Do we really cease to exist when we die? Does dying hurt? Is it possible that we actually live independent of our bodies?
Science has not yet provided us conclusive proof of life after death, but it has produced enough evidence to help us deduce that what we call "death" does not represent an "end" of our life or existence, but instead, represents a change of state.
Dying appears to be the process of final physical dissociation. It stands in contrast to birth, which is the process whereby we—ourselves being of spiritual substance—experience the moment of "first association" with our physical bodies. If these suppositions are true, then death involves a far different issue than the question of existence. It could instead be a quality of experience issue, reflecting the quality of the life that we lived, and the thoughts, energies, ideas and patterns of behavior that we gave life to. By way of analogy, if we move out of a house, neighborhood, or city that we have lived in for many years it does not mean that we no longer exist. As I see it, such is the case with "death and dying."
Given how pervasive sex education has become in elementary education, why isn’t there a death education curriculum as well, beginning at least in our secondary and middle schools? After all, aren’t the frogs and pigs that students dissect in biology dead already? There’s a perfect opportunity to begin a conversation on the subject.
Two reasons come immediately to mind why Death
and Dying Studies programs are not yet popular among
educators. First, we’re afraid to "frighten" our
kids about real issues (though we don’t mind them watching
thousands of people get killed, gored, victimized, assaulted, and
horrified in the movies and on the news). Second, there’s
probably not enough uniform agreement about what death actually
is, particularly with respect to what happens after you
"die." Discussing the dying process begs consideration
of the fateful implications and quality of the life that is
ending, and the memory that is beginning. Given the
declining regard that many people are demonstrating for life
these days, perhaps we should begin discussing our ideas about
the afterlife a bit more openly, agreement or not, before
one’s most significant life choices are made.
Remember the word process. Dying involves passing through actual physiological and psychological stages leading toward our permanent release of control over our physical body. If one thinks of themselves as their physical form, then this can pose a very large psychological problem, particularly for people who have gone through life trying to be "in control" of every detail.
Unable to resolve the paradox of existence in the face of imminent non-existence, our mind responds by delivering fear-laden impulses and images about dying to our consciousness. Unbeknownst to us, the mind is responding to our request, delivering visions that we resonate with through our fears. As a child I can still remember images of being trapped inside a coffin buried underground, in my "dead" body. You see, we cannot conceive of not living, because somewhere, we are always doing so. Nonetheless, we don’t always know how to "process" our apparently irreconcilable thoughts. And when that happens, they tend to register within our psyches as fear. Death is one of the fundamental mysteries of life and consequently, one of the most feared.
As an adult I recall having a dream in which I found myself falling off a very tall bridge. As I plummeted over the edge—actually feeling real "negative g forces" as I fell toward certain death—I experienced a separation. It was quick and immediate. All of a sudden I was watching my body continue down into the waters below. I remained in the air, safely levitating… without mechanical assistance. Then the thought came to my mind that, when my time to "die" came, I would remember how to do the final separation. That dream, which at first glance would be a nightmare to most people, was instead quite reassuring to me.
If we became comfortable with the idea that our body is something that we "wear" while in our earthly world, then the idea of dissociation would not be as big of a conceptual problem. In fact, the dream experiences that we have throughout our lives could likewise be seen as dissociated adventures as well. All of these perspectives could help us to reduce our fears of mortality. We may yet be nervous about the details of our own death, but not as nervous as we would be if we believed that our body was us.
To be most effective, taking the "I am not my body" approach requires the adoption a few additional supporting ideas. One idea is that our physical body, or form, is not our only one. What we call it is not important. But knowing that "we" have a form other than the physical one helps this all make sense.
As a metaphor, we have become accustomed to dressing in clothing that is appropriate for a given environment. We add layers when going in cold climes, insulated clothing in wet environs. Astronauts wear pressurized clothing when preparing to take a stroll in the earth’s atmosphere. Noted oceanographer Jacques Cousteau, who went through his own physical dissociation in 1997, was co-inventor of the aqualung, which allowed divers to "breathe" under water. This development was ingenious because it allowed us to study the oceans though our bodies were not designed to operate in an aquatic world.
Accept for a moment the idea that one’s spirit (or Soul) is not "native" to the earth. (A being that is not visible certainly qualifies as alien in my book.) Heaven’s Gate-ish associations notwithstanding, it is then very reasonable to consider that one’s "entry" into earth’s atmosphere—which is of a lower light frequency and "slower" vibration—might require a specially designed kind of packaging. I certainly believe that our physical "clothing" qualifies as something special. Yet it is conceivable that other planets and areas of space may require experiential clothing of a different design for use by a race of intelligent beings—so different as to be incomprehensible, if not imperceptible.
Remember that the physical body only looks solid, but if we scaled our consciousness down to atomic levels, we could clearly and dramatically see that it really is not. Our bodies are ingenious in design, and beautiful in form and elegant in function. By design they stretch, breath well, and are supple and quite strong. Our bodies have self-adjusting body temperature, a self-regulating pulse, are self-cooling, and have the ability to heal and even regenerate certain parts. Wonderful instruments they are. But if we’re careless they can sometimes be irreparably broken, and even if we exercise the very best of care throughout our lifetime, they will eventually wear out. The good news is that we do not.
We spend a great deal of time acting dispassionate about death… until it’s real. We’re able to watch it on the nightly news, watch it go by in funeral processions, and not really be moved… until it hits home. Some time in our life we will experience the loss of a loved one by way of the dying process. Our attitude about it will have a profound influence on those who have come to their "time", and on our own passage.
There’s more to say on this subject. Consider this a beginning.
Copyright © 1997-98 Phaelos Publishing All Rights Reserved
I AM NOT THERE
Do not stand at my grave
and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
Author unknown
