Saturday, June 11, 2016

Death


I’ve experienced a thousand metaphoric deaths. Death to the ego, death to control, death to youth, death to what we want in our life but can’t have, death to delusion, death to people you don’t hang out with anymore – or, places you used to go.

I don’t dwell on the subject, but it comes up every so often.

A friend of mine lost her life partner last year to cancer and she posted the following on facebook last week:

It fascinates me how many people express what they know about what happens after you die. I like the musings and the various ideas, but no, you don't know, you just don't.

Even those that have been dead and revived, still do not 'know'.

No amount of book reading, meditation, or journeys to India can give you this information set in stone.

Yes to investigating it ~ no to pretending we know it all. 

Concocted wisdom is so unattractive; a fool's paradise.


It’s been a while since my last blog entry and I’m bringing it to life again with a post about death. 

We all die – but what is it to die, really?

In terms of the afterlife, I've had a few ghostly encounters: 

·        My mother died on the 25 July, 20 years ago. When my father and I entered her hospital room to see her after she had died (my brother and a nurse were already in the room), I felt a va boom, va boom, va boom energy – contracting, expanding, contracting, expanding – the whole room seemed full with her spirit.

·        On 30 July (my birthday) and five days after her death, my cousin and I were laying in my bed, both of us awake, though each of us presumed the other sleeping. A dark aura came together in the shape of a person from across the room. The va boom, va boom, va boom energy returned. The blackened metaphysical figure hovered for a while, then dispersed. The next morning my cousin and I were making my bed. She said tentatively: “Your mother came back last night.” “I know,” I said. "You felt it too?”

·        A few years after mum’s death, Dad and I were renovating our family home. We wanted to make it the best version it could be in honour of her. Soon after we launched our renovations, Dad met his now wife. He would stay over at her house which meant I was often alone in our home. The builders had knocked down back walls which left security vulnerable. A thrifty robber would have found his way in. 

I was in the front bedroom with my two dogs, asleep. An energy came over the room which triggered me to wake. Besides the bed, crouching on the floor – in a position that signaled fear that I’d catch him - was a young man, about 20, with brown tousled hair, wearing a red flannelet shirt. I was stunned to paralysis. I tried to talk or scream. I couldn’t. Instead his eyes met mine in a flash of shock – me at seeing him, and he at being discovered by me. Finally I was able to muster some semblance of a voice: “Get the fuck out,” I said. “Get the fuck out,” my voice meek but mouthing the words. I thought he was going to get up and run. But right before my eyes he dissipated into thin air. I threw my head to the other side of my pillow and closed my eyes tightly. “Holy fuck, I’ve just seen a ghost. Holy fuck, I’ve seen a ghost."

·        About three years before mum died, our family spent Christmas at my Aunt Sue’s country home. My three cousins often had stories to tell about ghosts lurking up around the farm house. They were all used to it. Phenomena. The same cousin who would be with me on my birthday those years later was attuned to the spirit world. We all believed she must be a ‘fresh spirit’. So it goes, a fresh spirit is a new soul to the world, no past lives - and as a result, she’s especially tapped in. That day our family had been up to my maternal grandfather (Bert's) grave site. I never knew him. Mum was 21 when her father died, and her youngest sister, Helen – only seven. There were four sisters in all. Jennifer (my mum), Sue, Lucy, and Helen.

Later that night – around 11pm – Sophie (the fresh spirit cousin), Lucy, Helen, and I, sat at a Ouji board that my cousins had long ago etched into the kitchen table. We intended to channel Bert. We’d been at the board, fingers on the glass, and obligatory candles, for over two hours trying to conjure up ghosts – hopefully Bert, but anyone would do. Suddenly he came in. “Is that you Bert?” Sophie asked. The glass quivered. “John Robert Field, is that you?” The glass wavered for a bit – all our forefingers pressed firmly on its overturned base. Definitively the glass moved to “Yes.” And so we went on – did you know we were at your grave site today? “Yes.”

Who are your daughters? The glass would find the letters on the board to spell J-E-N and then S-U-E. Instead of spelling the other daughters' names, the glass instead led us to Lucy, her person, – stopped for a bit - and then off to position in front of Helen. Sophie began to ask more questions. But Bert didn’t move. More questions. Still staying put in front of Helen. We began to sob. Was this Bert reclaiming lost time with his youngest daughter Helen? The daughter he had only known for seven years? It felt like it. 

Lucy asked: “Will Jen be alright Dad?" Jen, of course being my mother – who was as it turned out to die less than three years later. Bert didn’t want to answer. He hovered between yes and no. A wave of devastation flooded the pit of my stomach. The session wrapped as Bert tired and we could sense the energy wane. It was time for us to let him go.

There are probably other accounts – but those four examples are the most profound I’ve experienced. I dated a doctor who worked night shifts in the ICU department at several Sydney hospitals. He said he’d be asleep in the bed assigned to doctors on night shift, and in his dream – he would be walking down the wards and see people walking past him. He’d be woken sharply by the nurses calling his pager. “Doctor – we need you in room [XX] to certify a death.” Nirmal would head to the room – see the deceased patient and recognize them as one of the people from his dream.

In closing, I’ll share some wise words written from Bishop Koshin Ogui, a Buddhist teacher, who gave sage advice to a troubled young man thinking he’d be better off dead. 

“It’s a certainty that at some point you will die. So there’s no need to rush. When your time comes, you can die then. But since you’ve been blessed in this life with a human form, why don’t you try living a while longer?”


Photo: Mum.