This is a quick little post inspired by thoughts on death and how it relates to my spiritual path as a mystic. Death is of course a very harsh reality. Every living thing dies. My body is no exception to this. My body will eventually fail for reason and circumstance in the future unknown to me now. My flesh will rot. My bones inevitably and eventually turn to dust. I will die. I know this and I accept it.
And yet, I do not. At least not certain ideas about death. Certain generally accepted things. Death happens, but what is death? What is it really? Again and again I come to the same conclusion for myself and my own spiritual path – there is no death.
The spiritual path of mysticism is basically a fundamental realization that transforms awareness. To be a mystic is to change who you are by awakening to the realization of what you are. That realization is impossibly simple – you are existence itself. More than a body, or a mind, or a soul. More than an angel, devil, or god. The very ground of existence itself. The suchness of reality. Whatever this and every other universe might be considered to really be. That is you. And the you that you think of yourself in terms of everyday life – while that certainly has a reality and life of its own, there is a deeper you.
So then, death happens. What then? An afterlife? Some say there is one. Some disagree. I like to think that there is an afterlife for those who believe in one. I like to imagine that there are as many otherworldly realms as there are stars in the night sky. I cannot prove this. But I do like the thought. I hope that it is true. But I do not want it to be true for me.
I do not want an afterlife. I do not think that such a thing is for me. It is difficult to explain why someone who believes in afterlives would not want one for himself. Why someone who acknowledges the reality of death – even seeking to embrace it with the virtue of a martial artist – would at the same time reject the reality of death. It is because I am a mystic. And because I love life. Truly and deeply. Not just the physical act of living and breathing. But the very ground of existence. My path is to understand that the suchness of all things is what I really am. I am It. It performs the act of being a strange man nicknamed Mouse.
And what will my death be? I like to imagine my own death as a release. A release from this form into many more. The death of Mouse will be the birth of ten thousand other things. Worms in my flesh. Smoke from my ashes. Memories in friends. Grass in the garden. A flutter on the breeze. I like to imagine my death like a firecracker in the sky – exploding into sparks of light, never to be the same. The act of being this person will be over. But what goes on deeper will go on as ever. Existence goes on ever and ever. No death for that. No death for that which I really am. Only death for the dream of this person. The realization of this is key for my spiritual path. That art Thou. I am It.
If something of the me that types this blog were to continue on as is. It might be paradise for another. But it would be a wretched failure for me. I must not be so trapped. I hope all who desire those fine paradisal realms may find them. I hope only for release for myself. Release into what is. For that to truly be, I must not hold onto me. “Me” must be swept away entirely. I must be free. My inner spirit has always felt like gentle breeze. Flowing, stirring, blowing, whipping. Restless, but free. I know that I must never be too still. Stay too long. I am happy to linger awhile. But I must eventually go. “I” must eventually go away.
There are two stories in fantasy literature I have read that capture something of the feeling of what I wish I could convey more easily. In the first, an ancient, immortal elf named Arafel is having a conversation with Death. They are discussing mortal kind. During the course of the conversation, Arafel admonishes Death and reminds him that, “You cannot touch me. My kind fade.” That is how I feel sometimes in regards to death. Others will die, but I might fade away. Gone, but continuing. Just in the opposite way that many others hope for. So many others want to continue on as “me”, and let the rest go. But I love the rest. I would let me go, and continue on with the rest forever and ever. That brings me to my other story. One where a foreign priestess confronts wizards of another land and religion. They believe that her kind are soulless because their people do not appear in the afterlife or their people. She snaps back with the question, “Why do your dead not die?” And informs them that while their people continue on as themselves in an afterlife constructed in the spirit world of ancient magics, her people die to themselves and thus live on forever in the cycle of nature. I like the idea of the former. But I cannot help but hear the beautiful call of the latter.
I love life. I will let myself get lost then, lost in its beauty. This is my path. This is my way. Not a choice, so much as a recognition of who I am. An allowing of myself to fully realize my own being.