Thursday, November 12, 2020

Death Without End

I am going to reveal to you the biggest secret of life and that is: there is no secret. I'm free to say that I have discovered this truth after 20 years of my honest spiritual search. Yes, you hear me well, nothing has value in this life.

Desires, fears, love, hate... you think it is "you". You get stuck talking to yourself, explaining, hoping but life has no explanations to give. It is an empty, meaningless flow of events that just go on and on.

Whatever happens has little or no importance. You are born and you live your pity life: you sleep, eat, shit, fuck, work and work and work more until you die. And today's post is about that. How to properly die? How to leave this world? When is the right time to die?

Please suspend judgment. Don't read this with your common sense. You will never find out what I'm trying to say...

Yesterday, I received an email from my long time blog reader Tony from France. He sent me an interesting article to read. 

In the article Why I Hope to Die at 75 the author Mr. Ezekiel Emanuel writes about his decision to end his life at 75.

That’s how long I want to live: 75 years. This preference drives my daughters crazy. It drives my brothers crazy. My loving friends think I am crazy. They think that I can’t mean what I say; that I haven’t thought clearly about this, because there is so much in the world to see and do.

I liked the beginning so I read it with a certain dose of satisfaction to the end.

But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world. It transforms how people experience us, relate to us, and, most important, remember us. We are no longer remembered as vibrant and engaged but as feeble, ineffectual, even pathetic.

It is his game. He is a chauffeur. He does not lead a double life, he loves this life.

I reject this aspiration. I think this manic desperation to endlessly extend life is misguided and potentially destructive. For many reasons, 75 is a pretty good age to aim to stop.

I often say that we are living a lie and our thinking that we need to be present in our kid's life is not true. I jumped from the chair reading this:

Unless there has been terrible abuse, no child wants his or her parents to die. It is a huge loss at any age. It creates a tremendous, unfillable hole. But parents also cast a big shadow for most children. Whether estranged, disengaged, or deeply loving, they set expectations, render judgments, impose their opinions, interfere, and are generally a looming presence for even adult children.

At age 75 we reach that unique, albeit somewhat arbitrarily chosen, moment when we have lived a rich and complete life, and have hopefully imparted the right memories to our children.

In this life we should be only interested in awakening, in getting enlightenment, obtaining self-realization, call it as you wish. That is difficult, no difficult is not right word, it is impossible.

Know Yourself is a main thing in life and in the process of finding out about ourselves we see only ugly, unpleasant, hurtful and dishonest things. The whole process of discovery hurts like hell but it is worth doing it.

Seventy-five years is all I want to live. I want to celebrate my life while I am still in my prime. My daughters and dear friends will continue to try to convince me that I am wrong and can live a valuable life much longer. And I retain the right to change my mind and offer a vigorous and reasoned defense of living as long as possible.

Indeed, since I started this awakening thing I have discovered my own ugliness, my lies, pretense, hypocrisy, fears... 

Fortunately, I am not a thin-skinned, heart-oriented and addicted-to-comfort guy so I proceed further. I have no hopes that I will ever rich enlightenment but who cares, I am striving even harder with ruthless self-investigation and self-observation.

Somewhere in this process over the years, I've developed the capacity to see things as they are, and that makes me seeing things with brutal self-honesty. 

I'm not so concerned about other people, they're stuck with the comfortable day-to-day deception, oppression and depression. They are surrounded by lies and they itself has became a big lie.

Waking towards enlightenment is a frightening endeavor. It shatters the beliefs, world view and dissolves any certainty. You start seeing things you may not want to see. This is very painful. 

The culprit of all seeing is the seeing that we don't exist, the "I" don't exist. So simple words which do not make any sense. Are they?

Let's get back to main theme of this post... Two years ago I made my testament and I indicated upon my death, this body is to be cremated and ashes spread in the water and land. I want no reminder of my existence to be left on this planet.

When my time comes to leave this life I will do it gradually by stopping eating and drinking. My main concern is to die with full awareness. I am not sure that society is ready for this kind of death for them this is not acceptable. 

I read an interesting article Fasting To The Death: Is It A Religious Rite Or Suicide? and I disagree with Indian government but you make your own opinion about it.

I will finish this post with my favorite poems. They reflect my understanding about life and death. The first poem is written by Kabir a great Indian saint.

Man, you've got it all wrong,
there's no creator or creation here,
no gross and fine, no wind or fire,
no sun, moon, earth or water,
no word, no flesh, no faith,
no cause and effect,
not any thought of knowledge.
No God or devil.
No mother, father or son here.
If you understand now, you are master,
I am your follower.

My second favorite poem Death Without End is written by Jose Gorostiza, a Mexican poet.

...this incessant stubborn dying,
this living death,
that slays you,oh God,
in your rigorous handiwork,
in the roses, in the stones,
in the indomitable stars and in the flesh that burns out,
like a bonfire lit by a song,
a dream,
a hue that hits the eye.

...and you, yourself,
perhaps have died eternities of ages out there,
without us knowing about it,
we dregs, crumbs, ashes of you;
you that still are present,
like a star faked by its very light,
an empty light without star that reaches us,
its infinite catastrophe.

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