As a physician, I see fear of death permeating our health care system. Doctors shy away from patients who are dying or resort to technical language. Patients are afraid of making the passage. Relatives don't know what to say or do around the death bed. Intuition--our deepest gut feelings and knowing--can guide us if we listen.
All About Fear
Fear is a vital response to physical and emotional danger—if we didn't feel it, we couldn't protect ourselves from legitimate threats. But often we fear situations that are far from life-or-death, and thus hang back for no good reason. Traumas or bad experiences can trigger a fear response within us that is hard to quell. Yet exposing ourselves to our personal demons is the best way to move past them.
DENIAL OF DEATH
I'm always surprised by people who say they're not afraid to die. Most are usually quick to point out they are afraid to die painfully—but not of the idea of no longer being alive. I continue to be mystified not only by this answer but by the number of people who give it. Though I can imagine there are indeed people who, because of their age, character, or religious beliefs, truly do feel this way, I've always wondered if that answer hides a denial so deeply seated it cannot be faced by most.
Certainly, this has been the case with me. I love being here and don't want to leave. I've always spoken openly of my fear of death to anyone who's ever asked (not that many have—I suppose even the question is uncomfortable for most), but I've rarely experienced moments where I actually felt afraid. Whenever I've tried wrapping my mind around the concept of my own demise—truly envisioned the world continuing on without me, the essence of what I am utterly gone forever—I've unearthed a fear so overwhelming my mind has been turned aside as if my imagination and the idea of my own end were two magnets of identical polarity, unwilling to meet no matter how hard I tried to make them.
THE SHATTERING OF A DELUSION
The true significance of my denial wasn't made clear to me, however, until I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The anxiety that began to envelop me at that point was of an entirely different order than I'd ever experienced before. It began to interfere with my ability to function, which made plain to me that what my brush with death—twice—had taken from me was my ability to believe I would never die. Knowing intellectually that death awaits us is quite clearly a different thing from believing it, much in the same way knowing intellectually gravity will make you fall is a different experience from actually swooning at the edge of a parapet at the top of tall building. Ultimately, being ill brought me to the realization, contrary to what I'd always believed in my heart, that there was nothing special about me at all. Like everyone else, I was only a piece of meat that would eventually spoil.
From that point forward, whenever I'd feel a minor twinge in my chest or develop a rash on my arms or my hand would shake for no reason I would become paralyzed with anxiety. Even though I recognized intellectually that my reaction was overblown, every new random symptom I felt caused my doctor's brain to leap to horrifying conclusions simply because I now knew in a way I hadn't before that bad things could actually happen to me. I felt like one of my long-time patients who for as long as I've known him has been consumed by an anxiety so great he'd become like a child in his need for constant reassurance that he would be all right. His anxiety had made him inconsolable and his life a joyless nightmare.
PTSD is often diagnosed in men (and now women) who return from the battlefield, women who've been raped, people who witnessed natural tragedy—in short, in anyone who either has an intense traumatic experience themselves or witnesses one occurring to someone else.
WHAT TO DO NEXT
I'd always considered the shattering of delusion in my life to be a good thing, something that's always brought me more happiness rather than less. And yet here seemed to be an example that contradicted that rule, for around the time I was diagnosed with PTSD I was surely suffering to a degree I never had. Frankly, I was happier before living in denial.
Over time, though, the crippling anxiety of PTSD resolved and I returned to my previous level of functioning. However, even minor injuries or transient symptoms that I would have ignored before now stir up vague feelings of worry. I remain acutely aware to this day that my ability to believe in my invulnerability has been irrevocably ruined.
I've decided, however, that this is a good thing: I've been given the opportunity to challenge my fear of death without actually having to be actively dying. Many others aren't so lucky. I began practicing my religion 20 years ago because I was intrigued by the notion that enlightenment might actually be a real thing, attainable if only the correct path was followed. I've continued because I've had experiences with the practice that have convinced me it has real power to shatter delusions about life.
For me, three things are certain: First, my experiences with my religion so far have inclined me to think that enlightenment is a real thing, and that it might be the solution to my problem with fear of death. But, second, for me to become convinced that life is eternal ("there is no beginning called birth or ending called death"), I must have an experience that proves it to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. I need to know it the way I know gravity is real. I must confess I can't today even conceive of what that experience could be. Yet I must remember that every time I've gained real wisdom from my Buddhist practice and become genuinely happier, it's always come as a result of having an experience I could never have predicted. And lastly, because I hope the establishment of indestructible happiness based on a belief in the eternity of life is possible, I must remain on guard against the seductive tendency to convince myself of it. Belief that arises from a desire to believe is usually, in my experience, too flimsy to withstand a genuine challenge. And I can think of no more genuine a challenge to a belief in life after death (whether through reincarnation or an ascension to Heaven or anything else) than the actual imminent approach of death itself.
I fully recognize that my current belief about death—that it is truly the final end of the self—is likely to be correct. Which makes me wonder if I wouldn't be better off throwing my energies into re-embracing denial and simply accepting that when it comes my time to die, if I'm given the chance to see it coming, I'll suffer however many moments, hours, days, or weeks of fear there are to suffer and then be granted a final release.
If only I could. Once a delusion has been shattered, I've found there's no going back. And even if there were, at some point I'm certain to be re-confronted with a denial-eradicating sickness or injury. Everyone will. Depending on your current life stage this might not seem like a pressing issue. But shouldn't it be? An experience like mine could become yours at any moment. And even more desirable than being able to die peacefully is being able to live fearlessly. In fact, one of the supposed benefits of manifesting the life-condition of the Buddha is freedom from all fear.
I've tried to resolve my fear of death intellectually and come to the conclusion that it can't be done, at least not by me. Some kind of practice that actually has the power to awaken me to the truth is required (assuming, of course, the truth ends up being what I hope it to be).
Thus, my grand experiment continues. What about yours?
DENIAL OF DEATH
I'm always surprised by people who say they're not afraid to die. Most are usually quick to point out they are afraid to die painfully—but not of the idea of no longer being alive. I continue to be mystified not only by this answer but by the number of people who give it. Though I can imagine there are indeed people who, because of their age, character, or religious beliefs, truly do feel this way, I've always wondered if that answer hides a denial so deeply seated it cannot be faced by most.
Certainly, this has been the case with me. I love being here and don't want to leave. I've always spoken openly of my fear of death to anyone who's ever asked (not that many have—I suppose even the question is uncomfortable for most), but I've rarely experienced moments where I actually felt afraid. Whenever I've tried wrapping my mind around the concept of my own demise—truly envisioned the world continuing on without me, the essence of what I am utterly gone forever—I've unearthed a fear so overwhelming my mind has been turned aside as if my imagination and the idea of my own end were two magnets of identical polarity, unwilling to meet no matter how hard I tried to make them.
THE SHATTERING OF A DELUSION
The true significance of my denial wasn't made clear to me, however, until I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The anxiety that began to envelop me at that point was of an entirely different order than I'd ever experienced before. It began to interfere with my ability to function, which made plain to me that what my brush with death—twice—had taken from me was my ability to believe I would never die. Knowing intellectually that death awaits us is quite clearly a different thing from believing it, much in the same way knowing intellectually gravity will make you fall is a different experience from actually swooning at the edge of a parapet at the top of tall building. Ultimately, being ill brought me to the realization, contrary to what I'd always believed in my heart, that there was nothing special about me at all. Like everyone else, I was only a piece of meat that would eventually spoil.
From that point forward, whenever I'd feel a minor twinge in my chest or develop a rash on my arms or my hand would shake for no reason I would become paralyzed with anxiety. Even though I recognized intellectually that my reaction was overblown, every new random symptom I felt caused my doctor's brain to leap to horrifying conclusions simply because I now knew in a way I hadn't before that bad things could actually happen to me. I felt like one of my long-time patients who for as long as I've known him has been consumed by an anxiety so great he'd become like a child in his need for constant reassurance that he would be all right. His anxiety had made him inconsolable and his life a joyless nightmare.
PTSD is often diagnosed in men (and now women) who return from the battlefield, women who've been raped, people who witnessed natural tragedy—in short, in anyone who either has an intense traumatic experience themselves or witnesses one occurring to someone else.
WHAT TO DO NEXT
I'd always considered the shattering of delusion in my life to be a good thing, something that's always brought me more happiness rather than less. And yet here seemed to be an example that contradicted that rule, for around the time I was diagnosed with PTSD I was surely suffering to a degree I never had. Frankly, I was happier before living in denial.
Over time, though, the crippling anxiety of PTSD resolved and I returned to my previous level of functioning. However, even minor injuries or transient symptoms that I would have ignored before now stir up vague feelings of worry. I remain acutely aware to this day that my ability to believe in my invulnerability has been irrevocably ruined.
I've decided, however, that this is a good thing: I've been given the opportunity to challenge my fear of death without actually having to be actively dying. Many others aren't so lucky. I began practicing my religion 20 years ago because I was intrigued by the notion that enlightenment might actually be a real thing, attainable if only the correct path was followed. I've continued because I've had experiences with the practice that have convinced me it has real power to shatter delusions about life.
For me, three things are certain: First, my experiences with my religion so far have inclined me to think that enlightenment is a real thing, and that it might be the solution to my problem with fear of death. But, second, for me to become convinced that life is eternal ("there is no beginning called birth or ending called death"), I must have an experience that proves it to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. I need to know it the way I know gravity is real. I must confess I can't today even conceive of what that experience could be. Yet I must remember that every time I've gained real wisdom from my Buddhist practice and become genuinely happier, it's always come as a result of having an experience I could never have predicted. And lastly, because I hope the establishment of indestructible happiness based on a belief in the eternity of life is possible, I must remain on guard against the seductive tendency to convince myself of it. Belief that arises from a desire to believe is usually, in my experience, too flimsy to withstand a genuine challenge. And I can think of no more genuine a challenge to a belief in life after death (whether through reincarnation or an ascension to Heaven or anything else) than the actual imminent approach of death itself.
I fully recognize that my current belief about death—that it is truly the final end of the self—is likely to be correct. Which makes me wonder if I wouldn't be better off throwing my energies into re-embracing denial and simply accepting that when it comes my time to die, if I'm given the chance to see it coming, I'll suffer however many moments, hours, days, or weeks of fear there are to suffer and then be granted a final release.
If only I could. Once a delusion has been shattered, I've found there's no going back. And even if there were, at some point I'm certain to be re-confronted with a denial-eradicating sickness or injury. Everyone will. Depending on your current life stage this might not seem like a pressing issue. But shouldn't it be? An experience like mine could become yours at any moment. And even more desirable than being able to die peacefully is being able to live fearlessly. In fact, one of the supposed benefits of manifesting the life-condition of the Buddha is freedom from all fear.
I've tried to resolve my fear of death intellectually and come to the conclusion that it can't be done, at least not by me. Some kind of practice that actually has the power to awaken me to the truth is required (assuming, of course, the truth ends up being what I hope it to be).
Thus, my grand experiment continues. What about yours?
No comments:
Post a Comment