The charade of personhood

I cannot stop thinking about all of the small deaths we face. I tend to minimize their impact by remembering that they are not equivalent to someone no longer physically being here- but some of these small deaths feel just as jarring and painful. The loss of a friendship you cared for deeply- betrayal. The loss of a life you imagined for yourself- mourning. A career gone- disappointment. Health degrading- new realities. So many micro deaths, so many little fractures. I am beginning to ask myself, what is it that I am actually learning. Physical life is not the only finite thing- experiences, expectation’s, emotions- they all have their last day, but we treat it all as if it would last forever. And when something different grows in its place, where did I place the thing that went before? Energy doesn’t disappear, it can’t be destroyed, only transferred. When I consider the meaning of the transference of energy then the purpose of art (for me) becomes clear. The sound of my voice becomes less shaky. What are we transferring? How? Have I been intentional about this transference? Is that even possible? How many roles have I played? How many micro deaths? Who is the me that is watching it all play out, observing quietly in the corner. Who is the me that gets to ask these questions?

I find myself walking down the narrow corridor of transmutation. So many hanging pictures of things that were but can no longer be. The photos still hang, because nothing is forgotten. Not truly. Dusted over and grimy, but the photos still hang. I continue down the corridor. The lights flicker. I can hear my footsteps, each step forward echoing in the empty narrowing hall. Until I reach a door, not locked but stuck and needing a nudge. What is on the other side? Transmutation. On the other side is process, acceptance, truth. On the other side I am the audience watching the play and I am the actors, every single one of them. I am the stage itself. Process. Something in me stirs. I push the door with my shoulder. I shove it. Then a voice sounds out- “if you step through this door you cannot turn back. Not for some time. You will not be able to see anything. Not for some time. How ever you knew life before, that will all die. You will emerge with different eyes. Time will fold onto itself. Only go through when you are ready”. I give it one final push and it swings open with ease. Everything goes so black that I cannot adjust my vision to the darkness. I must use my other senses to navigate back stage. I can feel everyone I have ever been, inside this one body- all snapping into place. I’ve always imagined myself to have evolved past certain phases of life so I find it shocking when I see that these different variations have gone nowhere but deeper inside of me. I have simply lost the ability to see the stage, the actors, the audience. I have simply lost the awareness to understand the script I am holding. “The charade of personhood”. An unraveling awaits.

I am now a student of death

If the subject of death is particularly triggering for you please avoid this post.

Lately life has taken me down a new path. I’ve been learning about death doula practices as well as practices amongst different cultures in the face of death and grief and what I’ve learned is that the United States of America is generally (although not wholly) a death denying country. We are a touch starved country as well as a grief denying country. We don’t want to deal with any of the scary stuff. And for many death is scary (rightfully so).

We have forgotten the transcendent power of grief and of presence. We grieve alone, with shame. With give away our presence to frivolous scrolling or distractions.

What I’m learning about death is the fragility of life. The mystery of it all. The importance of presence.

Most Americans will die in a hospital- having been admitted, giving up all of their belongings and slapped with a wrist band. I never thought about the psychological aspect of this. The loss of identity and the total dependency on an institution whose job is to save your life. When in this position- where death approaches, most people die alone, or with minimal access to family, friendship, warmth, compassion- and less access to the self who existed before admission. How can we learn, even when we are afraid, to do the work of sitting with those who deserve the dignity of our full awareness and engagement at the end of their lives. Our willingness to be there. Our desire to hold their hands and say “I don’t know what’s going to happen but I’m going to stay by your side no matter what”.

I’ve been thinking deeply about death and grief- while that may seem morbid, it really feels profound. I heard someone say that we cannot love something fully until we acknowledge its end. Its end is embedded in its existence and when we deny that fact or act as if anything will live on forever, we lose the power of the transient nature of it. The power of the contrast that death provides which is a highlighted richness of life. We must love as if there may not be another chance, because sometimes there isn’t.

I’ve decided to volunteer at hospice. I’m in the training stages and have enrolled in additional training for death doula work. I want to show up to this work with reverence and presence (sorry to be so redundant)- the best tool we have in life and in death. Being fully present. I don’t know what to expect. How deep the work will go. I already feel as if I am changing just going through the education process of how to sit with people at the end of their life. The education process feels more of an education on how to be fully in the space I am in. How to have awareness of my own biases. How not to project my own fears. How to meet the person where they are at and not insist that they need to be elsewhere. So far these are all things I’ve decided to practice actively, everyday, as often as I can be aware. Am I meeting people where they are at? If I cannot meet them there, am I the right person for them to be with / speaking to in this moment? Am I projecting my own fears and judgments? Do I feel my sense of spirituality creates a bias (whether positive or negative) when in this dynamic? Am I fully aware, present, engaged. Am I listening with my whole body? I’m taking classes from Alua Arthur, death doula, educator and author of the book Briefly, perfectly human. She said something that really stuck with me- our role is to be as clear a vessel as we can be. As clear a channel as possible for those dying. We must be the mirror that allows others to see clearly their own feelings. This makes me think of a cup filled with water. Water holds memory. When we move and shake the cup ripples are created. For one to see their own reflection is water, ultimate stillness is needed. We must be the stillness that allows the memories to be deposited and the persons reflection to be seen. I think these are skills that apply not only to end of life, but also for the vibrantly healthy as well. Now I am a student of death and spiritually I am learning about life, acceptance, peace, stillness, the ability to be.