A meditation in three parts. The first: the final result of birth is death. There has never been an exception to this. The miraculous organism that is a sentient being, formed out of an inconceivable number of interdependent parts, a delicate balance that changes with each heart beat; I witness my own aging.
the time of death uncertain...Anything can happen. Statistics are just statistics. I will die. You will die. But neither of us know when.
What should I do?There's not really a direct answer to that question. This could be the "what is the meaning of life?" question. Maybe it means we need to examine our attachments to almost all those things we are taught to attach to: physical health, financial independence, perhaps the striving to make a name for ourselves or find the perfect partner...worldly possession can't help. Relatives and friends can neither prevent death nor make the journey with us.
The idea is to stop taking life for granted, to recognize its value and maybe be jolted awake to the sensuality of existence. Every breath is an intake of life.
Impermanence. The death of someone upsets the illusion of permanence we strive to sustain.
This is the basis of a Buddhist meditation. I'm not there yet. To me, these thoughts -- parts one and two of the meditation -- are still too frightening and morbid, and so I cannot yet get past them to part 3.
Last Saturday I took one of my trips out to the Salton Sea. I never really know what I'll find in myself every time I go out there. What it always comes down to is whether it feels alive or dead, and how I respond. And then I returned to learn the next morning that an old, old friend had died.
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