My hour of death
If I could have my way with this, I would go quietly in my sleep, without body pain and knowing that I have left nothing important undone. I would have done all I can to prepare for this journey into the Clear Light and, as done every night, I’d have read a portion of the ABD, maybe a little Eckhart Tolle, both always on my nightstand. I would close the book, turn off the light and, smiling, lay back, slipping into slumber and on through death to the next part of my voyage.
I would be alone because that would mean l’ve outlived the one who would most acutely experience our separation. Our son, happily in the embrace of his own family, his own life so rich and full that, while I would live on as a dear and sometimes funny memory, he would rejoice, knowing that I was truly done with this full and well-lived life, yes, knowing this is a beginning, not an end.
However, since a more pragmatic end is likely, and since I am imagining how I would like to pass through this last doorway, I would wish for it to be a scene of tranquility in company with a very special few who want to be with me when I go. I would prefer to be at home with only whatever devices are necessary to make my passing easier for my ‘terminal midwives’ but nothing that would artificially keep this biological machine functioning. I would like the window opened so that the air is fresh and I like to imagine my last breath slipping out that open window to join the aethers. As I go, I would like to be hearing the directions for safely navigating the bardos and, if my beloved survives me, I would cherish hearing his voice.
Even knowing “all phenomena is illusion”, the grief I experience thinking of him alone makes me add one more fervent wish; that he would be surrounded by fellow voyagers who would give him succor and keep him and love him even better than I do.
Loralilah