Chapter 167
It occurs to me that our perception of life and death is perhaps a little warped? In meditation, thoughts of being arise. What is my purpose in life? Why am I here? The great question of humanity. The plague question. The question that has dogged me always. Looking for the moment I find fulfilment; emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually. These thoughts are still arising, also in today’s sitting, the bubble of thought that the meaning of life is death.
The only certainty for each and every being is the finite nature of this existence. The death of this creation, whether human, horse, fish, bird, tree, moss, grass, rock or world. All go through their cycle, ceasing to exist in current form. Creation phase – a spark of energy falls into this particular shape of being, the union of two zygotes to create human, then embryonic cells split, divide, multiply within the womb, emerging as squalling infant growing, changing. We morph, build tissue, grow bigger and longer. With right feeding and watering and sunlight and care, become an infant, then child, adolescent, young adult, mature adult, eventually a decaying adult. Change; the bloom and blossom, growth and flesh of youth, tilts over the apex of one’s existence to begin the long slow process of decay. A beautiful turning, maturing, changing of skin, skill, bone and tissue, knowledge and wisdom, until we take our last breath, departing this existence for the next.
Perhaps life is really happening prior to the point of creation, that spark is the pinnacle of life? Henceforth we follow the trajectory of death. Everything a preparation for death. Moths and butterflies; the lava becomes a caterpillar, spins a chrysalis, undergoes complete transformation, emerges as a winged creature that graces our world with such beauty, yet dies so quickly. Perhaps it’s only our perceived length of time in this plane, that makes us feel so attached to what we call life.
My ambition is to live the best death, to do everything in this existence to prepare for what I will be doing in the next. Every step now moves me towards the transition point, hoping for ease and grace and softness, to allow energy to move from this body into the next plane. Whatever one’s spiritual beliefs or convictions, we know that energy does not cease to exist. The physical body, the meat, the earth suit, this amazing machine that carries us around – carries me around – is merely a vessel for energy, the essential spark that is I.
We consume others for sustenance. Somewhere along the meanding thoughtpath, I recognise we only consume that which we have killed, or waited for the state of decay. The beauty of decay is extraordinary. Think of the Apple. The sweetest apple ever tasted is the fruit of the tree when entering fully into the process of decay. Sweetness increases further along the road of decay. The meats that we like to eat, those animals, most definitely dead, decaying. How many people would want to eat a cow that was still still rambling on the hoof? Would you lean over and take a bite? How would you feel about drinking hot blood straight from the veins as ancestors used to, blood still moving through the body? To eat liver for vitality, steaming, straight from the body? Then you really are eating life. But now we eat death. We eat cold, preserved, aged, even in the vegetable world, suffocated in plastic. These things are dead. Why would we not eat life? (Other than a few notable exceptions). What a strange thing is human form. What interesting mythologies we tell each other, train each other to believe. Who is to say what is right?
Through man’s history, across diverse societies, we may think how abhorrent a practice! Yet we need only observe ourselves; our media and entertainment which glorifies and magnifies, telling vivid tales of violence and killing. We justify killing by repeatedly creating heroes and villains. Conversely, the sublime, sacred act of making love, joining souls in tenderness, is vilified, hidden behind closed doors, behind veiled euphemisms. It’s not to be spoken of, not to be seen, but why? I can use these words: War, fight, bomb, bludgeon, strike, massacre, torture… nobody blinks, but let me drop one simple word into this missive and observe what the reaction is that arises in your body: F***. In fact, while I dictate ideas in my note system on my phone, that word is not even spelled out: F, star, star star, how ironic.
Kat Dancer
bodymudra@gmail.com 1 415 525 2630 (c)
