What would life be like if we didn’t fear death?
Would we spend our time living instead of hedging against death?
Imagine not fearing death. Whatever comes up, this is no problem. I keep going. Before I know it, I’ll be in my astral body for more adventures. What’s the big deal?
If we didn’t fear death, we couldn’t be threatened by anybody. Or any terrorists.
Terror loses its strength. (Oh, whatcha gonna do? Kill me? As if!)
If we didn’t fear death, we wouldn’t spend so much stress on our ailments. (And they might leave, for lack of stress. Stress, after all, being the source of dis-ease.)
If we didn’t fear death, we wouldn’t spend 50% of heath care costs in futile efforts to keep weary bodies alive long past their functionality.
Can we understand the body is just a vehicle for us? An overcoat we will shed? A deep-sea diving suit we borrow so we can experience this dense plane of existence?
Within a few years of arriving on the planet, most of us begin to see that everything dies.
Yup, that’s the way it looks. I landed here where nothing and nobody seems to last.
Secretly I think I won’t die. Oh, those older people are dying, and this young one had an accident, but me, I just go on forever in this body.
What is this assumption we make? Why do we run away from our own “death”?
I think deep inside, we know our being doesn’t die.
So here we are, most of us, fearing death. Yet many of us believe in spirits, believe in the spirit realm. (Polls in 2013 found 45% of Americans and 52% of the British believe in ghosts. I’ll bet the worldwide percentage is even higher, considering Chinese ancestor veneration and other cultural traditions.)
Turning to Logic:
I fear death.
I believe in spirits.
Can I connect these two thoughts and realize I’m going to feel fine as a spirit myself?
In this Death-No-Such-Thing series, I’d like to hear your stories, and tell you some of mine.
Do you or your friend have stories around the departure of a loved one?
My grandma, for instance, was temporarily living with my aunt, preparing for the next step in her care. But the night before an appointment, she told my aunt, “No, we’ve changed the plan.” Hours later she passed to the next realm.
Some comments made by the elderly might be heard as confusion, but some are spot-on truth. I’ve often heard patients in ICU, nearing the end, speaking with their own circle of departed relatives, or dreaming of them. Invariably, as they approach the Door, they engage in these conversations at the bedside, often shared among family members.
“Oh, I saw Oliver again. He’s hanging around here. He takes my hand, and it feels lovely.”