Now, I see my death every now and then, whenever and wherever I want. Within a flash of a second. Just like that. I never knew that dying was so easier after all… And oh! How joyful and blissful it is to die every moment.
Earlier, I was dying gradually; sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. However, it was a slow process. And then, one day, all of a sudden a closest person to me died. It was my father. The connection between us was and is beyond any words, language, or expression. It has always been the “feeling” rather than an emotion or a relation. A feeling, for which any words or medium of expression will be just incomplete. I know that. He knew that. The sudden shock made me sense that my death has approached too; only the way of dying was different.
What was different? I started dying to all the known things, all the information, knowledge, conditioning that I had. The process became even faster as I started being more and more in nature. It made me reflect upon death, the futility of life that is, the “Leela” or the “game” that life is. I clearly remember this as it was a sensory experience that is carved into my senses. One evening after my father’s death, I was sitting at the lake. Both of us used to go to woods, lakes, dams’ backwaters. Sometimes we used to take walks, strolls. And sometimes, we just used to sit quietly without uttering a word. It used to be a pure “being,” purely organic, natural, and a flow state.
So I was also sitting like this one evening after my father’s death. The sun was setting and the moon was rising. The lake was surrounded by a deep forest. There was a light wind blowing past me. The lake was reflecting the natural festive colors of the skies along with the darkness and shadows of the trees. And oh, it also had my reflection. I was holding the soft soil in my fingers and my fist. And without my knowing, tears started flowing through my eyes…
Why was I crying? Was I sad? Was I missing my father terribly? Yes… Probably. I was missing him. I so wanted to be with him. But, the tears were also for my own death… It was the very soft and wet soil that made me realize the touch of my father, the eternal connection between us. It was like he was telling me to let him go and to realize that all these things are an illusion. We don’t really die. We just change the form. And I was and will keep meeting my father or every single particle every now and then. Because we don’t really die. After all, what is death? Death is “an end of illusions”…
And then, it just became my habit to die. Dying to/of all the known, of all the illusion. The stinging pain started transforming into a naked and choiceless awareness… The process was and still is so rapid that it always feels like a joyous and blissful ride! After all, what choice do I have than to trust and see my own death! Ah! How wonderful death is!
