Japanese Zen masters sometimes know when they are going to die.
Once master Hofaku called his monks together and said: “This last week my energy has been draining – no cause for worry. It is just that death is near.”
A monk asked: “You are about to die! What does it mean? We will go on living. And what does thatmean?”
“They are both the way of things,” the master replied.
“But how can I understand two such different states?”
Hofaku answered: “When it rains it pours,” and then calmly died.
She has been my friend, student, colleague, mentor, and soul mate. My heart is overflowing with the blessings of having her in my community and in my life. Today is the last day at her current work, and she is moving to another state.
How do we survive the loss? What supports adjusting to the changes? Is it possible we can experience a skillful goodbye?
I remember well meeting with a young couple after she had decided to stop all treatment and to consciously die. We created her Celebration of Life ceremony (she crossed every “T” dotted every “I”). The deeper work, however, revolved around how to consciously let go of life as they had known it, and to welcome the next chapter.
We sat in her hospital room, just the three of us. I asked them to close their eyes and to begin exploring what it was like to feel their connection without relying on their physical senses of sight and sound and touch. “Imagine you are able to slip your consciousness out of your body, float to a meeting place in the middle of the room, and enjoy being together without skin on.” They were familiar with animal spirits, having been actively involved with a Native American Shaman.
Holding that space, breathing with them, and choosing to be willing to feel my own quivering heart. How would I be handling things if I were the mom of a six-year old son letting go of my physical life? It is one thing to have all of the ideas, another to be experiencing the lessons real time. She was so brave. They both were. Even without yet knowing the rest of the story…. (See http://scs-matters.com/?s=Hawk&submit.x=0&submit.y=0)
Today, I witness other friends facing serious medical challenges that may result in early death. In my mind’s eye, I sit in a quiet room with each of them, holding that tender space of learning we are more than these physical bodies. Even now, my heart quivers again.
May we live each moment so fully we have no fear of the future nor regret of the past.
May we remember who we really are. May we each learn the art of a skillful goodbye.
