When somebody dies others are invariably left behind. They often want to follow along into Eternal Meditation with the one they love. Perhaps this comes out of spiritual longing or simply because of the unbearable thought of being left alone. And so people close around a death are, for one reason or another, drawn into the dying process. Indeed, I’ve sat beside a person and felt drawn along with them as they fade away. And when, as a priest, I am involved with funerals or memorials the sense of being drawn in very evident.

My father, who seemed to know about such things, kindly warned me in advance that he might follow my mother quite quickly when she died. I said ‘That was fine by me’! I also said I thought there was enough going on in his life that would hold him here; me perhaps! Not that I think people make a conscious choice concerning the timing of death. I could be wrong though….

Here’s another thought. When close to death people often sleep, the deep breathing and sleeping noises seeming to confirm this. There is often a sense however that there is a profound turning within, and tranquility envelopes everything and everybody around them. Perhaps they are asleep perhaps they are meditating very deeply, who knows for sure. A person can ‘sleep’ through half a day a night and another half-day then open their eyes, looked out at those sitting close by and then up and leave. Just like that.

And sometimes people are paid a ‘visit’ just before they die. This is not uncommon either.

Finally I have a moment to work with photos I took while away. Here is one taken just outside of Jasper. In my ignorance I crossed the road and stood about half a bus length away from this grand creature. Latter I learnt there should have been, at least, three bus lengths between us. We live and learn.

Bull Elk on the side of the road near Jasper.

Scroll down to ‘Rocky Mountain Elk’ if you follow that link.

Last Wednesday a complete stranger turned up for the ceremony of giving and receiving the Precepts. He’d just happened to bump into a congregation member as he was walking to the ceremony. They had fallen into conversation, one thing led to another and both of them ended up walking in the door just as the ceremony was starting. Jim (not his actual name) appeared mentally disoriented during the ceremony yet participated wholeheartedly, saying “I will” to keeping the Precepts, and left happy. Jim’s presence was a gift we all were able to accept and benefit from, the gift of innocence. (Incidentally, I’d normally not have a person come to such a ceremony with out being orientated to what they would be agreeing to before hand.)

Across town a family dog attacked an 8 month old child. The father was on his way home from the priory at the time. Hard to think of that situation being a gift, yet seen through the eyes of practice it was. I’ll not go into details here, just to say the child was not seriously hurt physically, and the dog has been returned to the animal rescue organization with the assurance it will be re adopted into a childless family, not killed.

I bow to the mother, “this is just the start of the twanging of the maternal heart strings, and you have accepted that”, “Well done”! “There are no bad mothers, just ones trying to do the best they can”. I bow to the father, “The dog (Sue), came into your life briefly, she let you love and then let go”. “Your heart strings have been stretched, not broken.”

Life is constantly throwing up gifts of, what seems like, a door slamming. Received with compassion and they can be a door opening. That’s opening to deeper acceptance and a more expansive understanding of ones place in the larger scheme of things. Such gifts are a challenge to faith. In the first case the challenge for me, as the guardian of spiritual safely, was to keep the door open when my instinct would have been to compassionately close it. In the second case the challenge to confidence in guardianship, for a child and for an animal.

And the challenge for all of us is to let go of self blame.

At this very moment, as I write, a small group of friends are gathered around a bed near London. A man is dying; body and mind are dropping away.

The greatest gift anybody can offer the dying is simply to sit still. Not grasping after life nor wishing it’s ending before time has ripened and marks it’s moment. That’s the very same sitting still we call meditation. Meditation is to sit like a dying person allowing body and mind to drop away, there is nothing to do. The difference between just sitting, and a dying person just sitting, is that when the bell rings we get up and step into life. And when the ‘Golden Bell that rings but once’ rings for the dying there is just stepping out into The Great Unknowing. That’s Eternal, Unconditioned Love if we must have words, and sometimes words are helpful in order to give expression to silent faith.

How very easy it is to get caught up in doing life, and forget to live. Living does not mean to gather more experiences to retrieve latter when health, youth and vitality have drained away. Grasping at life, rather like gathering ripe cherry’s into a basket to eat latter, regurgitating and eating them, again and again is to live in the past. Stepping into life, the cherries fall into our basket, they are eaten and digested and forgotten. Life nourishes in the living of it. That’s to live with a pure and gentle heart when time and space loose their usual meaning. And life and death do not stand apart.

Many thanks to the group of trainees who have gathered around to sit still and who have kept me informed. A special thanks to John who reads this blog and who has remained a pillar of strength these last long weeks and months.