Wayne Allan Dirks
My father died 2 weeks ago.
He not only had his will, his wishes, and his belongings in order, he also had his heart and soul in order. He was ready to accept what life brought and to accept death when it came. He was ready to take his last breath with a prayer of gratitude on his lips.
One of my final memories was sitting on Dad’s hospital bed, holding his hand. He was in a lot of pain, yet his mind was incredibly sharp. I asked him what he wanted to happen in his pained, weakened state. He looked at me with the smile I had come to expect and said, “If I die, I get to be with Jesus, and if I live, I get to stay here with Nancy…either way I win.”
In the past two weeks, I have reflected not only on the example and inspiration of my father’s life and death, but on my own life and readiness to die. In the yoga understanding that guides so much of my journey, life is thought to be a preparation for death. The Sages teach that death is painful for those with regrets and attachments. Death is painful when our own greed and selfishness have us so entangled in this life that we cling helplessly to it. Death is painful when we have not learned to live well.
Whatever tradition we are part of, the teachings are in essence the same: learning to live well. Learning to accept and let go. Learning to trustfully surrender and to face our fears head on. Learning to forgive and have compassion for ourselves and others. As we nurture these qualities in our hearts and minds, we slowly become masters of our own life and therefore, our death. As we learn to live well, we learn to die well.
People offer us mirrors to reflect upon our own lives, eventual deaths, and the qualities we our choosing to nourish on a daily basis. Thank you Dad for the mirror you have reflected to me. In so many ways you showed me how to live well and how to die well.
I have noticed lately how often people use the word busy or talk about how much they have to do. Busy has almost replaced the word “fine”, when responding to the question, “How are you?” Even my 3-yr-old granddaughter felt compelled to tell me how busy she was, although I wonder if she knows what the word means.
I was recently playing with my 3-year-old granddaughter when she got overly excited and broke some rules. Her mother immediately put her in a 5-minute time out. Upon being released from her time out, she confidently ran back to play with me proclaiming, “Grandma, grandma, I want you to know I am changed; I am a completely different person now!”
In the beloved story of the Bhagavad-Gita, a corrupt and narcissistic king sits on the throne. He is selfish and greedy with little concern for the welfare of the people he rules. As a result, everything is out of balance and suffering prevails.
A study was done at the University of Virginia showing that 67% of men and 25% of women would rather endure an electrical shock than to sit alone is silence. Startling, isn’t it?
I have been thinking lately about a quote by T. E. Lawrence, known to many as Lawrence of Arabia. It goes like this: “All men [sic] dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men [sic], for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.”
It’s hard to miss. Another New Year has called us to social celebration and quiet reflection. We can feel the turning of time and with it the longing for meaningful change. We are in touch with hope, with possibility, and with failure. We are reminded of what might be different or at least a little better in our lives, in our world, in our character. And for most of us, this hope turns into resolutions.
