Allowing the Truth of Death to teach me about life
Cyclical living as a prescription for a linear world
As I write this, I’m floating in a liminal space. Between fullness + unfettered joy, and the deep darkness at the end of life.
Lately, my life has been full of sweetness—a true late summer phase. I’m in a creative burst of energy, feeling overwhelmed with ideas, energy, and hope for the work I’m creating and get to contribute to the world.
It’s a phase I do not take lightly, having very rarely (if ever) felt this way in my 20+ years of “working”.
And I especially do not take it lightly after spending the last 4-5 years in an incredible awakening period — One day, jolted awake to a new Truth or connected to a divine guide, the next, lost and confused about what I was supposed to do with this new awareness and how I fit into the whole.
So…I am savoring every moment of this creative action phase.
But this morning, as I sat outside in the early morning light (fog, actually, it’s Northern California after all), with “We Are the Ones We’ve Been Waiting For” by Alice Walker in my hand, calling me to ingest the astonishingly beautiful and equally painful words within, I read a passage that made me crumble to the ground.
Tears fully wet my face and would not stop.
The passage –When Life Descends into the Pit – was about death and the impermanence of it all.
She referenced a novel she had written years earlier about a woman who was dying. In preparation for her death, she decided to burn all of her belongings. To start to erase the human life that she was about to leave. Her sister, an angel who had died decades earlier, watched on in horror.
Alice’s words were simple –
“When life descends into the pit
I must become my own candle
Willingly burning myself
To light up the darkness
Around me.”
(Walker, 2006)
This passage made me think about Buddhist Monks and a practice they do every single day.
They wake up early, before the sun rises, and in the dark and stillness of the monastery, they purposefully choose to meditate on death.
About the people they’ve lost and the ones who are vibrant and alive in their lives now, but one day will be gone.
Wonder when they’re going to die, and if anyone will remember them.
If their body will be buried or burned, in a box, or at the bottom of the sea.
How their body will feed the next phase of growth for the Earth.
If they’ll get to say something they have been too proud to say, or do something they’ve been too afraid to do.
And I ask, but the monks may not, where will I have gone when I’m gone?
Because life will carry on when we’re gone. And will erase all of our physical humanness at some point, not long after.
All of this meditation on death must take a toll on their zest for life, right?
This is the liminal space which I currently inhabit.
After reading Alice’s words, and letting the heavy sadness cover and almost smother me, I got up and went straight to my husband, who was making our kids’ school lunches, and cocooned myself into his arms.
Then, to my kids and did the same, cuddling their sweet faces in my hands, thinking of the time when all the life in our home would be gone. Tears still welling in my eyes, as they are now.
And I realized then, in that moment, that meditating on death and understanding impermanence may be the exact prescription needed for living fully.
It’s what Buddhists figured out a long time ago. It’s what makes life so intense and so worth living.
To understand impermanence is to realize that all conditioned things are constantly changing and ultimately temporary, including our physical bodies, emotions, thoughts, and possessions. The source of our suffering is wanting things to be permanent and not accepting the inevitability of change (Norman, 2024).
Currently, I am using the changing of the seasons as a directive for understanding impermanence.
I’m in the middle of leading an intimate group through a 4-week series where we’re honoring the falling away of summer’s bounty, reflecting on the fullness of what was created, and getting ready to release what we no longer need in preparation for rest. We’re bringing intentionality to observe what is happening outside of us to reflect upon what is happening within —and vice versa.
By observing the seasonal cycle, nature reminds us that not everything is meant to be carried forward.
There are times of high energy and creativity, and there are times of quiet and restoration.
And of course, there is also a time for the falling away and final release of death. Whew. Even writing that word feels hard for me. I don’t know if it will ever be easy.
But the unfolding of this awareness does feel right in my body.
It’s a universal Truth that life has been waiting to show me.
Becoming conscious of the natural cycles both inside and outside of us supports us in honing our attunement to ourselves and what really matters.
It can be the difference between feeling peaceful, aligned, in the flow, and feeling overwhelmed, scattered, and like I’m trying to be or do something I’m not aware of or don’t want to.
Cyclical living is in tune with the system and balance of nature, and the symbiosis of ourselves. It listens deeply, with moments of bursting energy and moments of death and falling away. And everything in between. Cyclical living is honoring the type of beings we truly are.
If you want to dive more deeply into Cycles and Cyclical living, I recorded an episode on my (NEW!) YouTube channel. I’d be thrilled if you checked it out! Future episodes will range from personal power and living with purpose, to motherhood identity, to connection with nature, to everyday joy and simplicity. I hope to see you there.
Article Citations
Walker, A. (2006). We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For. The New Press.
Norman, F. (2024, August 14). Impermanence is Buddha Nature. Lion's Roar. Link
