Living can be strange when taken in conjunction with dying. I thought the good times were the times worth living. But I am not sure anymore. Clearly the hard times shaped me, chiseled me, It is like the saying about the sculptor just likes chiseling away rock to create the sculpture that previously existed only in the imagination.
I get these moments when I imagine dying. It is hard to do but sometimes it feels so tangible and I have this little mini-freak out. Like I see into the abysss of nothingness and just lose myself in fear for a moment. I have worked with death in my meditation practice. I have prayed about it. I have studied it. I have thought at times I made friends with death.
Why is it so hard to imagine non-existence? Why is it so hard to be at peace with reality. The proof could not be more clear. No one is getting out of this alive. Barring rebirth then, what is my purpose? Is it to enjoy life. Be of service to others. Raise the next generation? Is it a mere biological process like plants. I take in oxygen, expel carbon dioxide, and grow taller and fuller like a tree until my natural life span ends and then tumble to the ground where I return to my carbon form and nurture the earth?
Is karma really going to affect my after-life? Will there be a reckoning of my sins and deeds? I practice acceptance everyday in many ways. I am driven by mortality. But still I get out of bed each day and as they say, I suit and and show up. I can fear economic ruin, poor health, loss of loved ones and more. All the while if I also experience joy I look up and see the Sword of Damocles hanging by a horse hair over my head.
And so I return to my original statement taken from Bob Dylan, she who aint busy being born is busy dying. But perhaps all man’s purposes come to naught in death. Or maybe the joy of constant birth and life transcends this and will carry us to the heavens where we will reside with long lost loved ones in perpetual happiness.