The Achill Island Essays 9
A Glorious Sunset
Great Life Giving Spirit, we face the west, the direction of sundown. Let us remember every day that the moment will come when our sun will go down. Never let us forget that we must fade into you. Give us beautiful colours. Give us a great sky for setting, so that when it is time to meet you, we come with glory.
Aboriginal Prayer to the Four Directions
Any serious discussion about the meaning of life needs to start with the consideration of death. No subject is more carefully avoided. While we march, day-by-day, ever closer to that dark chasm at the end of our lives, our attention is fixed on what is happening all around us. With the possible exception of the crap game we play with our life insurance companies, we rarely look forward this inevitable event. Yet, with the exception of this fleeting and precious flash of life, we will spend most of eternity in an endless state of death.
When I was a young man, I looked to my future wondering where I would be when I was forty or fifty years of age. What would I have achieved? Where would I be going? As I ponder my future for the next forty years or so, I have to acknowledge that the end point will be marked by my death. In fact, to think that I will live that long is wishful thinking. I could easily spend most of the next forty years dead.
It's comforting to know that the circle of creation and death is one of the governing principles of the universe. The materials of our being were created by the death of others. From the supernova explosion that created the elements that make up our world and our bodies, to the women who died in childbirth over the ages, all life has been begotten through death. The continued maintenance of our lives is dependent on the routine deaths of plants and animals. From our own deaths future life will emerge.
What happens at death? Darned if I know. There are countless reports of near-death experiences with the tunnel, bright lights and vaguely joyous sense of another reality. But I'm more interested in what will happen when I'm stone-cold dead; when no doctor, however skilled, is going to pull me back from the brink.
Humanity through the ages has been quite insistent that the consciousness that emerges when we come to life has some eternal quality to it. We have this intuitive sense that it doesn't end here in this world. Whether we join our aboriginal ancestors, meet as individuals with a personal God in heaven, or dissolve into the cosmic melting pot of Nirvana is the subject of lively theological debate and will be for eons to come.
If there is an afterlife, death marks a new beginning. Something to be celebrated. But what of the worst case scenario? What if there is nothing after death? What if we fall into oblivion? Well, that might not be so bad either. If we think back to what things were like before we were born, which we can't, that's how things might be after we die. No consciousness. No awareness. Nothing. But we weren't tormented by all this worldly suffering. We didn't fret about wars, or famine, or supernova explosions. We didn't even feel badly about not existing. Whose to say that it will be any different after death?
Whatever the outcome, death must be an intensely personal affair. At that moment everything that was part of life ceases. All responsibilities, all relationships, all ties with the corporal world are irrevocably severed. Wealth, status, and power mean nothing. It doesn't matter if you're a world leader or an emaciated drug addict. Its just you, God and the universe. There is no one to call to for help. No one to act as your advocate. And while the event is intensely personal, it is universal. It is, with birth, one of the two experiences that we share with one another, and with every other being in the universe. We are not the first to arrive. Untold billions or trillions have preceded us. Nor are we the last.
With few exceptions, we cannot foretell the circumstances of our death. I like to think that mine will come gently, when I'm an old man, after having lived a full and joyous life. But death can come abruptly, as in an accident, or can linger with a terminal illness. It can be senseless, coming as the result of an act of random violence, or meaningful, coming in the midst of some heroic deed. It is also possible that death might not come quickly enough, postponed by our technological wizardry, relegating life to a state not to be enjoyed, but sustained. We have to accept that it is generally not our place to determine when and how we will die. We can make our preferences known in a living will. But that only covers certain limited situations. Where we can anticipate our deaths, such as with terminal illness or advancing age, preparations can be made. The key is to live our lives knowing that death can come at any time.
As I think about the possibilities for my own death, I wonder if it be for a noble cause - a martyr's or hero's death? Will it be running from something - a coward's death? Will it be as I'm toiling away - a common man's death? Will it come as I sleep - an old man's death? And how will I greet death? Will I welcome it? Will I fight it? Will I curse it? Will I see it coming, or will it strike me by surprise?
We cannot predict how we will respond to death until we are finally confronted with its reality. Sometimes, in dreams, our mind and soul can give us some clues to how we might deal with the unknown. I recall one particularly disturbing dream. I was part of a military group, locked in combat, holed up in a building, fighting another group. It was very much an 'if they see you you're dead' kind of situation. The fighting went on for some time...then I made a mistake. A man in a window saw me. He fired a bomb or grenade. It landed a few feet away. It was about to go off. I knew that I was going to die. I woke up.
The feelings I had weren't ones of bravery or heroism. They were feelings of terror and helplessness. There was nothing I could do, except die. I like to think that I've progressed somewhat since that dream. But like the fawn that's been caught by the wolf, our reactions to our own impending deaths are ones of terror. We desperately cling to life at all costs. We're not prepared to let go.
As a species, we are noted for our desire to survive death; to leave something behind that will be a reminder that we were once here. We build monuments, start foundations, have children and grandchildren named after us. For most of us, death will be unremarkable, and of little interest to anyone except a small circle of relatives and friends who themselves will die, and with them, their memories of us. Even the greatest leaders will be remembered for only a generation or two. A precious few may find their way into the footnotes of history. In the end, we will not be remembered, though evidence of our presence may be found in the ripples we create in time.
What is my wish for my own death? I can only hope that when the time comes, that I can honestly say that I have contributed just a little bit more that I have taken. That the world is a little better off because I was here. That those who relied on me will be able to get by on their own. And then I will want to let go of this life, and melt into a glorious sunset.
March 1996
About the Photograph: Sunset over Lake Titicaca, Bolivia.