"There is no death, only a change of worlds"

 Native American saying

I am experiencing more intense feelings lately about the reality of death. As well as palpable love of the experience of life itself...

 I love seeing the world outside

I love moonlight. I love to feel the wind

I love being awake, and going to sleep,

and coming back to awareness again

I love to imagine glorious things

like being there in the struggle

for justice, with new friends

 I love the dark before dawn

 and the moment of first light

I do not want for there to be only darkness

or for nothingness, forever, to descend

My awareness of the brevity of life and its preciousness has grown exponentially in the past year or so. I wonder why? Is there something symbolic about approaching 65? Or is this a natural stage, in which one becomes much more cognizant of the feeling of existential dread, or angst, that Kierkegaard, and other existentialists have talked about.

I am an agnostic regarding the question of the existence of an afterlife, and the existence of God, in the traditional sense, but I do believe in some form of universal spirit that underlies everything that exists. I have no idea what form consciousness might take after one's physical death. It is a question that I pose to myself frequently, and I feel unsettled about the central issue: does inhdividual consciousness continue to existence after death?

I would like to share these thoughts and feelings more openly with others, but wonder who wants to "go there."  I thought about talking to a pastoral counselor (but a fundamentalist) to explore the matter, or a spiritual teacher, in the Eastern sense, or perhaps just a friend who has explored similar questions in depth, and I think I will take concrete steps to inititiate that conversation, as my 65^th birthday approaches, in just 26 days!

It seems clear to me that there is a strong linkage between anxiety about physical death and a growing appreciation of the concrete experience of being alive. In recent years, I have become ever more deeply engaged in the creative process, in various activities aimed at advancing justice, and significant relationships. Living life much more fully counters the tendency to obcess about this existential issue.

But my questions remain, as well as the need to explore them further—hence, my reading of Thich Nhat Hanh's book, No Death, No Fear, who drives home the point that everything and everyone in reality are connected; each being is a manifestation of everything that exists, or ever has existed, indeed everything that is destined to come into existence.

Thich Naht Hanh talks about the grief he experienced when his mother passed away. But through a dream he gained the insight that his mother is always alive within him. This insight provides solace to me when I think about my own mother and father, both of whom I miss very much. But I still feel apprehension when I think about the loss of personal identity.

Yet, Thich Naht Hanh asserts that through the practice of meditation, we can gain insight that will lead, eventually, to a point of transcendence where we no longer fear death...

“If we are afraid of death it is because we have not understood that things do not really die. People say that the Buddha is dead, but it is not true. The Buddha is still alive. If we look around we can see the Buddha in many forms. The Buddha is in you because you have been able to look deeply and see that things are not really born and they do not really die.”

...And so I sit and listen to, and feel soothed by the wave of sound, rising and falling, that is made by the countless small creatures outside my window. I note that they make their sound in unison, and this suggests to be their deep connection, as well as mine, to every living thing on the planet.

As I let these night sounds in, I gain a sense of the rhythm to life; but sometimes I lose touch with it, and feel impelled, for some reason, to struggle alone against the tide.

Thich Naht Hanh makes the point that each manifestation of life, or non-life, for that matter, is like an ocean wave that rises and falls. Having spent time swimming in the ocean, in South Carolina, Rhode Island, and Florida, where I grew up, I realize the importance of relaxing into the rhythm of the water, wind, and tide. When I do this, staying afloat becomes easy.

When I stand beside the ocean I feel immersed in the infinite, and my underlying anxiety and worries seem to fade. And I become lost (but feel strangely at home) in the here and now. I tried to express this feeling in the following song lyric, entitled New England Man...

“There is an old New England man, still he teaches how to sail, waves and tide are always new to him. Still he teaches folks like me how to shed my misery, turn my furrowed face to sky and wind. Old New England man is he, Irishman on drifting sea, how is it that he can still survive. Still he teaches folks like me how to shed my misery, turn my furrowed face unto the sky. The roaring sea, the crashing waves, the moon at night, the dream that saves. The fishers cast, along the shore, their lanterns gleam forevermore.”

(Copyright 2009 by Patrick Frank)

Though I wrote this song twenty years ago, it seems appropriate now to dedicate this song to the Ted, John, and Robert Kennedy, all of whom have passed,  and yet their spirit lives on, in all who have been inspired by their dedication to the task of helping the poor and powerless, and granting them justice.