Death
I watched an interesting documentary today on the Tibetan Book of the Dead. I'm studying death and reincarnation in the Tibetan tradition for my independent study on Buddhist philosophy. It's fascinating stuff.
The documentary centers around a young novice, probably around 7-8 years old, as he accompanies an older monk to read the Book of the Dead to a dying/dead man in a nearby town. It acts as a way to teach the novice about death and the value of life and educate the viewers about Tibetan culture and the "bardos," states of consciousness that characterize different forms of existence.
One of the universal things I got from it was the value of death as a celebration of life. At one point in the film, the child asks why births are celebrated. In Tibetan tradition this means that a soul has chosen rebirth, potentially rejecting nirvana. It is still trapped in the painful cycle of birth, age, and death, and it must devote another lifetime to escape that suffering without tasting relief.
The teacher turns the question around. Why should death be mourned? he asks.
In the Tibetan view of death, consciousness separates from the body, allowing you to potentially reach ultimate liberation and escape the suffering of the birth-death cycle.
Therefore, death could be a wonderful celebration.
But death is a scary thing. Last Thursday an overwhelming sense of mortality rushed me, causing a deep-seated fear. Sometimes my thoughts hit the yawning uncertainty it presents in the late evening. Sometimes I read the names of the dead and remember their old faces that will never be again.
Why is it so scary? Is it the fear of letting go? The fear of what lies beyond? The fear of that perpetual presence we have of our selves silencing forever? It's probably a combination of these and others.
But the more I think about death, the less I worry. The more familiar I feel. I don't think it's something to celebrate, but I think it's something I can accept.
The documentary centers around a young novice, probably around 7-8 years old, as he accompanies an older monk to read the Book of the Dead to a dying/dead man in a nearby town. It acts as a way to teach the novice about death and the value of life and educate the viewers about Tibetan culture and the "bardos," states of consciousness that characterize different forms of existence.
One of the universal things I got from it was the value of death as a celebration of life. At one point in the film, the child asks why births are celebrated. In Tibetan tradition this means that a soul has chosen rebirth, potentially rejecting nirvana. It is still trapped in the painful cycle of birth, age, and death, and it must devote another lifetime to escape that suffering without tasting relief.
The teacher turns the question around. Why should death be mourned? he asks.
In the Tibetan view of death, consciousness separates from the body, allowing you to potentially reach ultimate liberation and escape the suffering of the birth-death cycle.
Therefore, death could be a wonderful celebration.
But death is a scary thing. Last Thursday an overwhelming sense of mortality rushed me, causing a deep-seated fear. Sometimes my thoughts hit the yawning uncertainty it presents in the late evening. Sometimes I read the names of the dead and remember their old faces that will never be again.
Why is it so scary? Is it the fear of letting go? The fear of what lies beyond? The fear of that perpetual presence we have of our selves silencing forever? It's probably a combination of these and others.
But the more I think about death, the less I worry. The more familiar I feel. I don't think it's something to celebrate, but I think it's something I can accept.