The Promised End

In these desperate days, when the Coronavirus pandemic is surging out of control in our country, and we have no leadership at all--or even worse, a pernicious "leader" in utter denial about the reality of what we are facing, who encourages irresponsible behavior from his cult followers--in such times, we all would do well to start facing what we all prefer to avoid--our own, inevitable death. I have not written about this topic so far in this blog, but I'll see what I can do, here, to make some sense of the great mystery facing us all, whether sooner or later.

At a purely intellectual level, of course, it is quite easy to embrace the idea of Impermanence--the idea that everything in the universe is a space-time event with a beginning, middle, and end, including our own lives. But at a deeper emotional level, we resist this idea, in large part because, as living organisms, we have the same basic vested interest as every other living organism, from bacteria on up: to keep on keepin' on; to eat, survive, and reproduce.  And for those (like myself) who are fated by circumstance not to reproduce biologically, we (or at least I) do my best to reproduce myself within the sphere of information and ideas--by writing, or by finding ways to propagate Gaian thinking and its practical manifestation in Permaculture. This is why I felt so gratified, so fulfilled, yesterday morning when my interview with Andrew Millison, my Permaculture teacher at OSU, aired on KMUZ radio here in Salem. I was "reproducing" myself in effect, broadcasting seeds of information out into the public sphere.  And it is a lot easier, I find, to face mortality, when we feel we have accomplished a purpose in life that is unique to us, that carries the stamp of our identity into a future we will never know firsthand.

Still, the big question arises: what will become of this "I," this keenly felt sense of unique identity, looking out from behind my eyes, after I die? After, that is, these same eyes are simply dull, gelatinous blobs floating in an inert skull that serve as tasty morsels for maggots and nematodes? Will this "I" persist in any form whatsoever, or will it simply evaporate as an abstract mental formation, in the same way that all the information in a computer evaporates if the system shuts down, and if its components are scattered to the four winds?

Of course I don't know the answer. Nor does anyone else, despite what they may passionately believe. This is why self-serving religious ideologies have such a tenacious hold on so many of us. If we can find a community who reinforces a belief system, (along with the threat of horrific sanctions for "nonbelievers" like "eternal hellfire") it acts as a hedge against the yawning uncertainty, that "cloud of unknowing."  A quick scan of Afterlife mythologies throughout the world shows that they have practically nothing in common (very much unlike the core ethical teachings of the world's religious traditions, which are virtually identical). This diversity of beliefs suggests that these myths are all motivated, above all, by a need to believe, a way of fending off fear, doubt, and uncertainty.  It stands to reason that our unique, carefully nurtured concept of self--that thinking being residing somewhere behind our eyes--simply recoils from any idea or notion of its own extinction.

So what is that mysterious "self" that we all so carefully conceptualize and will do anything to protect?  A number of Buddhist contemplative practices encourage us to look for it, somewhere in our bodies, knowing that such a quest is futile. The conclusion of the deepest of these teachings is that the separate "self" is illusory; a mere mental formation, a kind of moire pattern of interference, caused by innumerable, converging flows of information from our past, from our bodies, and from our world. Yet it is a lived experience for all of us, all the time.

So again, what will happen to this me-ness, this unique point of view on the world, with its thoughts, feelings, perceptions, memories, intentions, dreams, and fantasies--when its platform--our body--is extinguished? Will it just wink out, and that's that?  Quite possibly. A few years back, I was put under general anesthesia briefly during a colonoscopy. When I awoke, it was as if the hour or so when they were operating simply did not exist: as if the moment before I fell under the anaesthesia came immediately before the moment I awoke from it. The interval when I was "out" was...nonexistent.

On the other hand, back when I was young and in my second year of graduate school, I experienced a profound "awakening of faith" after a night of insomnia (wallowing in self-pity and existential anguish because my housemate and best friend had once again seduced a woman we both were interested in, and had spent the night at her place). I construed this "awakening"  in Christian language--the Prayer of Jesus--a kind of deep acceptance and letting go--a "Thy Will be done" moment, and I thought at the time that I had somehow embraced Christianity.  But in my subsequent efforts to make sense of this moment of awakening, I discovered that the language of Zen Buddhism made just as much sense to me as the language of Christianity.  But however vain, laughable, and maudlin my circumstances were (at least in retrospect), my "awakening of faith" was a genuine turning point in my life. I felt a deep, pervasive sense of peace and equanimity, an unshakeable trust in God, a sense of the "rightness" of everything.

That very afternoon, my friend (with whom I had reconciled, due to my new "awakened" mind of compassion and forgiveness) and I were bicycling to visit friends across town, when we came to a fairly busy intersection from a residential street.  Being young and reckless, we simply kept pedaling out across the main road, ignoring the stop sign--when a car came roaring around the bend to our right and was on the verge of hitting us.

At that moment, which is firmly etched on my memory, I clearly recall a kind of bifurcation of my identity.  My body--my physical self--went into panic mode (like any other animal), adrenalin pumping, as I firmly gripped the handlebars and pedaled furiously to avoid the oncoming car.  But all the while, my blissful, awakened mind seemed to float above the scene, looking down with amused compassion as my body lurched into action. At that moment, I saw clearly that it did not matter if I lived or died; that my mind (or soul or spirit--whatever) transcended life and death altogether. This was as deep, compelling, and trustworthy experience as any I had ever had; I saw clearly that life and death were both illusory. I had a vivid sense of continuity, right across the threshold of death, and was deeply at peace.

Since that day, I have never had a primordial fear of death--the kind of choking anxiety that many I know have about it, so that even talking about it makes them uncomfortable. The feeling I had at that crystalline moment was entirely trustworthy, and still is, when I revisit it now, some 45 years later.

So in answer to the Big Question, "What will happen after you die?" my answer is quite simple: (1) my body will be recycled, just like that of any other organism, whether plant, animal, fungus, protist, or bacterium; (2) the mental formation "Tom Ellis" will be just a memory for a few other people, for a while; (3) I have no idea, but--due to the above experience--I am not afraid.  And I am completely at peace with these three answers. And as long as I strive to act with wisdom and compassion in all I say or do, it doesn't matter whether I die in the next hour, or in the next 25-30 years, or any time between. Thy will be done.