I have tried to keep the idea of death and impermanence close to my heart for many years now. When I was young, some older relatives passed away, but I don’t remember the experience affecting me too harshly. But as I aged and grew, several people passing have left somber but important experiences in my mind. By ‘experience’, I really mean a wandering, meandering walk alongside death. A shadow which emerges from the daylight and stands beside you, sometimes creating a feeling of peace, sometimes sadness, sometimes despair and heartache. You think you come out of an experience like having someone in your life die stronger for the next time, but obviously, each and every flame that is extinguished is a new and brutally hard thing to take. And so, where does that leave one? Sadly I do not feel any wiser or better prepared, and as death continues to walk alongside me, I only feel deeper and more troubling questions and conversations brewing within me, thoughts and questions to ask this silent shadow companion.
My first serious encounter with death that I remember marking me was when I was still in high school. At our home, my fathers studio had a large backyard, stretching out to his garden, and often it was teeming with life. We would find raccoons, birds, baby mice, snakes, a lot of vibrant changes which ebbed and flowed with the seasons. One late summer afternoon I found something which still troubles me. A small sparrow, a tiny bird, laying on its side, struggling to breathe. To be honest, I’m often hesitant, or even … afraid of birds, as their erratic and quick movements startle me. I bent down to look closer at this small struggling bird, helpless on the grass. It was barely alive. Slow, delicate breathes, barely noticeable. I slowly picked it up in my hands, conscious that it felt almost hollow, like it weighed nothing at all. It’s eyes were closed tight, its mouth struggling to open and close, and I felt painfully aware that it needed my help.
I took it inside the studio and looked at it closer. I tried ever so tenderly to caress it, stroke its head and back in some sign of affection. That’s when I noticed what was wrong. I can’t explain why, but it had a small, terrible looking hole in its throat, as if some kind of acid or chemical had burned through its feathers and skin. I could see into its throat and I didn’t know what to do. I took it to the sink, thinking maybe I could give it a little water, I had the hope in my mind that if I did something, anything, maybe it would help. With a single drop of water held precariously on my finger tip, I held the bird in my hand and tried to be as gentle as possible. But within moments I felt that small bundle become even lighter as it breathed one last breath, and died. I could feel that life had ever so silently slipped away from it.
While it might sound trivial in some sense, this experience really took a toll on me. I never before had to face the fragility and razers edge of life and death. I never felt something die in my hands before, and the emptiness and sense of impotence that followed. I couldn’t do anything. If I had found the poor small bird already dead, I don’t think I would have been so affected, but instead it died in my hands and I could do nothing but watch. What struck me the most was how cruel and senseless life was. What had this small life ever done to deserve a terrible painful death like this? A hole burnt through its throat … All the selfishness, greed and evil of humanity and ‘progress’ took on a sickly hue to me and made me disgusted and ashamed to be who I was. No matter how I looked at it, gazed on the things around me, how we live our lives, I couldn’t help but notice how much death and suffering all the plastic, manufacturing, processing and comfort items we have created. Our existence and lifestyle seemed to be built on the destruction and sacrifices of all other forms of life. I still can’t shake that notion to this day …
And so, that was my first forage into contemplating death, what sense it made, and also our place n the Universe as humans. Notions that we are stewards of the planet, that we have a positive impact, that we are inherently good, all left me then and I became quite jaded. This theme has probably circulated throughout my studies in philosophy and religion and has always lingered just below the surface. Of course I enjoy most things like everyone else, think humans are capable of wonderful, incredible things, but somewhere deep inside, I always came back to the notion that somewhere, some innocent life is dying continuously for our joy and pleasure and that everything we do in life, everything we have, comes at a terrible price.