The Problem with Death

I woke up in the middle of the night sweating so profusely and microseconds later I realized that my chest was in a sharp pain. I lied still trying to figure what had just happened and I made myself believe that it was just one of those serious episodes of heartburn. The pain continued to jab me and its intensity was relentless and after what seems eternal, I sat up and tried to do a breathing exercise that I read somewhere. As a precaution, I also took a heartburn pill. I, unwillingly, asked myself the obvious question: what had just happened? Was it just heartburn or was it a mere courtesy call of death, disguised as a mild stroke?

All the while, my wife, who was sleeping beside me, continued her slumber and hopefully dreaming of a beautiful dream. I knew my children were also in their deep sleep, only to stir every now and then as I know they do.

So I sat down doing my breathing. I tried to focus my mind on one simple object -- a rose. I saw in my mind’s eyes a beautiful red rose and I tried to see the origin of this beauty. I suppose the projector that was my mind was not functioning as well as it should have, for I could not get a clear picture of the rose. I presume my mind has a “mind” of its own for I could not bring it to focus any longer. Instead of projecting a simple, beautiful stem of rose, my mind kept on wondering in and out of the subject of death.

I gave up my attempt to do a breathing exercise. So I went back to bed and tried to lie as still as possible so as not to disturb my wife. As I lay down stealthily I did not have any other thought but the thought of death. Someone had said “the anticipation of death is worse than death itself.” Touché!

The venerable Kang Keng had told me that a person needs to prepare for his own death. Here, he was not talking about putting down a payment for your future plot of land. He was talking about mentally preparing for it. He said he saw his own funeral many thousand times, in details. He was afraid of it at first but as he replays it over and over in his mind he became one with death. No longer afraid of it and he is now able to see it as something that is as normal as breathing.

Thus death came in and out of my mind as if it had total control of my faculty and soon I gave way to this train of thought and I now I became the passenger. I questioned myself how would it come, I mean, death? Would it come in a peaceful manner like a gradual fading of lights or would it come violently? No one would know, I suppose, for the one that had died was never able to tell us how it feels like the very last second of their grasping of air. Achar Bud Savong said “it is logical that everyone is afraid of death because a person will experience death just once in his or her life time.”

Should I be afraid of death? I asked myself. I did not have a clue whether the idea of death is more frightening than the idea of dying. Death, I know, will extinguish all which make my body functions and after it has put out all elements that fuel my body I will surely vacate this body and “I” will be no more. Or will “I” be? I do not know the answer because I do not even know if there has ever been an “I”, as in the first person singular pronoun.
I glanced at the clock that sat quietly on my night stand. The digital display showed 2:34 a.m. I had wished at that very instance that death would be just as quiet as this clock who just sits there waiting and showing us time, a reminder that a certain hour of rendezvous is nearing. I contemplated on the notion of Annicha Dukkha Anatta or all conditioned things are impermanence in nature and this will produce mental anguish and since this phenomenon is out of our control it is therefore not us – hence no-self. Mind you, I have not mastered this theory yet for I am still very much dreadful of death.

But then again, it is not death that alarmed me. Rather, it is the dying part that is bothersome. I hate thinking that when death comes, it comes in and plays us like a child who is playing with his or her little figurines. It would twist us here and bend us there. It would extend its cold palm and squeeze our beating heart now lightly, now tightly. The pain must have been excruciatingly unbearable. I thought when the time comes I would have enough courage to be able to say to death “come ye come all for I am not afraid of thee as thou art part of me.”

I opened my eyes and I found my wife was still asleep. It was 5:30 a.m. I got up and got ready for my daily round of work. I was thankful of the fact that I had another chance to wake up and to feel her warm body next to me.