Living in the Light of Death (eBook)

FromChapter 1: The First Messenger AgingIs Unavoidable 'Notwanting things to change.' If we think like this, we must suffer. When wethink that the body is ourselves or belongs to us, we are afraid when we see itchange. —,AjahnChah Iam subject to aging. Aging is unavoidable. Justto spend some time with this contemplation every day would be instructive, tosee it and really penetrate it. People often get impatient when you tell themsomething like that. I knowI'maging, they say. And we do know it, intellectually, in the abstract. Then againwe don't. We don't know it in our hearts. We don't know it in our bones. And wedon't live it. The slightest sign of aging comes up and we do everything we canto avoid it. I'mnot talking just about face-lifts, hair dye, hairpieces, adopting the fashionsof young people. (And I'm not necessarily opposed to such things.) I am talkingabout being aware of what your body is going through. I'm talking about knowingthat you—,like everyone and everything else—,are subject to the law ofimpermanence, and that that law includes not just eventual death but gradualchanges along the way. I'm talking about forgetting the image you project, andknowing what is happening to you. I'malso talking about experiences that happen to perfectly ordinary people, allthe time. One happened to me not long ago that really knocked some wisdom intome and has given my students many a laugh as I have recounted it. I am a personwho takes very good care of himself. I do yoga most mornings, I take longvigorous walks, I meditate a great deal, and I am careful about foodsupplements and the food that I eat. Aboutthree years ago, when I was sixty-three, I was on the subway in Boston, comingback from a trip to the dentist. I comfort myself with the thought that I mayhave looked a little peaked from my dental work. I was standing there holdingonto the metal rail when a young woman seated in front of me smiled and stoodup and gave me her seat. I didn't realize at first quite what was happening. Ithought she was getting off at the next stop. But that stop went by, and thenext, and I started to realize: Wait a minute. A young woman just gave me herseat on the subway. Mymind started racing. I wanted to say to her: You've got it all wrong. I get upand give my seat to you. I've been giving up subway seats all my life. Butapparently, from her standpoint, this looked appropriate. She was a young,vigorous, healthy woman. And I, it seems, looked like a man who needed to sitdown. All my years of doing yoga, eating good food, and taking long walks werewasted. I looked my age anyway. Next time it would be, 'Hey, Grandpa.How'd you like a seat?' Or, 'Slow down, old-timer. Let me help youwith those packages.' My self-image as a youthful, bouncy 'olderman'—,an image I didn't even know I had—,had been smashed to pieces. Thiswas not a bad experience. It was actually good. A young woman made a courteousgesture, and I got to take a load off my feet. It was what I did withit—,before my awareness returned and I had a good laugh at myself—,thatmattered. It was a modern-day rite of passage, an initiatory moment that let meknow I was in a new category. It shattered my self-image. Self-imagesare a problem. They are designed to help us feel adequate and secure but alsooften cause a great deal of suffering. We all have them, and most of us aren'taware we do. We spend enormous time and energy and even money creating andprotecting them, trying to keep them intact while our daily experience ischipping away at them. Then when someone sees us...