Nine Contemplations on Death
I have recently finished a series of paintings based on the Nine Contemplations on Death from the Buddhist scholar, Atisha. These contemplations are something that I sit with regularly and facilitate others to explore through meditations. Being aware that one day we will die is not an easy thing to face. But I’ve found that the more I look at my own mortality, the more fulfilling everything becomes while I am living.
Pairing these contemplations with the wisdom of poisonous plants is something I practice. They are a natural fit - who better to learn about death with than plants that can easily induce it? But a lot of these plants have actually been used for centuries by people who respected them and understood the line between “medicine” and “poison”. It’s only been in the last 100 years or so that we’ve been taught to fear, avoid, and exterminate these plants. And it’s a similar story for how we handle death. As we push these subjects to the margins and decide they are taboo, we are doing ourselves a disservice. Death is inevitable and it’s time to repair our relationship with it.
A lot of people are resistant to the idea of death. Our culture goes to great lengths to prevent loss, aging, and decay - all of which are actually natural and necessary processes. We often try to keep things alive as a default approach without considering what impact that will leave. And regardless of what we want to hold onto or how we package things, every moment we live still brings us closer to death.
If we don’t let things die, we are preventing other things from living and growing. I think about nurse logs, and how a fallen tree becomes shelter and essential nourishment for insects, fungi, and plants. The nurse log transforms into dirt after it has given all it can to the next generations of beings in the forest, indefinitely providing to all that surrounded it. Things don’t just die and disappear, like so many of our human fears around death lead us to believe. It’s true they are not what we knew anymore, but this allows room for it to become something else.
Death is going to happen whether or not we talk about it. It’s going to happen whether or not we think about it, acknowledge it, or even plan for it. It is an unstoppable event that every human experiences.
This contemplation traditionally relates to spiritual practices, but can also be used as a prompt to consider where we devote any of our time and attention while we are living. One of the gifts received when thinking about our mortality is that it allows us room for a larger perspective on our life. When we acknowledge that there is an end to this, it increases the significance of everything we have while we are in these bodies. The joy, the pain, the beauty, the love - everything becomes a richer experience. The more we are able to sit with death, to be with it, and to get comfortable being uncomfortable, the more illuminated all of our living experiences become. And that, in turn, allows us to spend our time more intentionally, tailored to what is important to us.
We don’t know which moment will be our last. Many of us assume it’s not something we need to think about until we reach a certain old age or a certain phase of health, but death can happen at any time on any day. When I think of how many people that died today, I wonder how many of them knew today would be their last.
Knowing that the next day is not guaranteed can make us more attentive to the present moment. I think the idea of Memento Mori (Latin for “remember you will die”) or Maraṇasati (a Buddhist reminder that “death can strike at any time”) fits best with this contemplation; realistically, we all know we will die, but it’s not a regular practice that many of us consider as a part of our day. We get swept up in living and assume we can think about a heavy subject like dying at another time. But we may never have a chance to get around to it, which does us a disservice on so many levels. Cultivating a healthy sense of death awareness can re-center us, giving us time to work out where our fears and regrets are, as well as illuminating where we feel gratitude. It can also remind us how beautiful it is to be alive.
After opening to the realization that our lifespans are uncertain, the next step is to unfurl a little bit more and consider that there are endless ways to die. Most people imagine dying at an old age when prompted to think about their inevitable death. In these scenarios, there is time for someone to decide what a good death looks like for themselves. Things can be planned, affairs can be wrapped up, decisions can be made. Preferences can be honored and loved ones can be near. It can be easier to imagine if we have some sense of control over how it plays out.
But life doesn’t always go according to plan - and neither does death. Even if someone is diagnosed with a terminal illness, there is no guarantee that will be the way they die. We don’t know what will be the actual cause of our death. One way I have heard this contemplation translated was “more conditions endanger life than support it”; a little frightening when phrased in that way, but there is truth to it. It makes each individual existence sound like a miracle in itself.
Our body is our closest companion. It has been with us from the moment we are born and will be with us until our last breath. It’s one of our most intimate relationships.
Our bodies are also extremely fragile and vulnerable. This is something that many people with disabilities already experience, but it can be a stark realization for those of us that are able bodied. Not only is it easy to injure, but we are also constantly aging and changing; the way our body functions may be a distant memory one day. We will slow down, we will encounter new limitations. The things we can do effortlessly now may eventually be a struggle.
Throughout it all, one constant we have is our breath. We breathe in, we breathe out. The whole fragility of life rests on this simple act. Breathing in, remind yourself “my life depends on this inhalation.” Breathing out, remind yourself “my life depends on this exhalation.”
We spend our entire lives accumulating material resources. Keepsakes, clothing, books, furniture, money, tools, art - they serve so many purposes. They are often more than just objects, becoming a part of our story and identity. They reflect our passions, our preferences, and how we function in our everyday lives. Someone could even develop a solid idea of who you are just by standing among your belongings.
But these belongings are not you. We are reminded in death that everything is let go, and material possessions are no exception to this. They can’t be with us forever. Eventually, everything we have will be redistributed. While some of it will be woven into new lives, some of it will also be discarded. This is a hard thing to consider: some of our most cherished objects that are full of memories won’t continue to hold the same value in somebody else’s hands. It’s a practice in transience, like everything about death is.
When people think about their inevitable death, most envision being surrounded by loved ones. Having love, comfort, and connection around us can make the most difficult situations easier to handle, even our end-of-life. But there comes a point in the process where our deaths are something that we have to go at alone. And while our loved ones can occassionally find ways to prolong our process, they do not have the power to stop it altogether. Dying is one of the only real guarantees we have in life.
When someone dies, the relationship to that person does not end. Memories live on, and people find ways to continue the connection they had together. One of the gifts that a dying person can give is to show what it looks like to have a good death. Leaving a legacy of this nature can create such a powerful ripple effect of peace for their loved ones. It can also bring ease for when they consider what their own end-of-life will look like, alleviating fear and uncertainty. If their loved ones can achieve a peaceful ending, then maybe they can, too.
We spend a lot of time tending to our body. Not a day goes by that we don’t take care of it in some way, even if our capacity to do so is small (or even if we judge ourselves for not reaching the standards we want to give). And in turn, our body provides for us the best it can and supports us in all that we do. The relationship we have with it is one of the most important ones in our lives. But no matter how much we take care of it and strengthen it, no matter what amount of resources we spend on it, our body cannot save us from death.
Rather than looking at our body as something that could keep death away, consider that it is actually adept at walking us through it. Much like childbirth and when we enter into this world, our bodies know what to do and help us through the dying process. When the time comes, most of us do not consciously decide to move through the internal steps of shutting down our body. Our body will take care of that for us - even at its own ending.
