By Jennifer Stanley
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October 11, 2024
The veil between the living and the dead is particularly thin for me this year. However, by deeply meditating on death, we learn the secret of life. My world shattered this past summer. Poe, the hero of my first fiction book but a very much real-life cat, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Anyone who has lost a beloved knows the devastation. Poe was much more than a pet to me. Yes, he was a cat. But he also saved my life. He came into it in my darkest hour, giving me one bright thing to look forward to every day. That little bit of goodness — seeing his cute, cropped ear arrive at the back door for food, gradually gaining that little feral’s trust — was the only thing that held me back from crossing the bridge myself. I had lost everything: my health, my ability to work, and with it, my life’s savings. I also lost a marriage, much of my mind, and was about to lose housing for the second time in my life. In desperation, I turned to the only profession you can do lying in bed, no degree or certification necessary. The degradation and self-loathing I felt made me honestly believe the world would be better off without me in it. The only thing keeping me here was a little cat who needed me. And now, he is gone. But he is also always with me. Coming to terms with his death was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I’ve been through quite a lot. While some people turn to their family or the church, I went back to my healer for solace — my yoga mat. Here is what I learned through my meditations. What Happens After We Die? I can’t answer that question. Anyone who says they know is either deluded or intentionally trying to manipulate you, absent proof; no one can raise Lazarus and interview him. All any of us can do is make a reasonable guess, based on what we know of what science knows. Many people claim to know what happens after we die. And, please understand, my purpose in writing this piece isn’t to convince anyone about what the afterlife is like or challenge anyone’s religious beliefs. Death forces us to confront our beliefs, to either find solace in them or come to a deeper understanding. It pierces the veil of our illusions, our fear, our desolate sense of loss, of never again, is a perception. We might turn to what we believe, but we realize belief isn’t knowing . Death is the great equalizer, but it affects us all differently. Still, every human who has ever existed has wondered: what happens next? We know the physical body decays, but what about the stuff that animates us? The unique cosmic soup that makes up who we are? Where does the ephemeral force that pushes the flower through the green fuse go when our bones become so much compost? I thought of this question and the river analogy as I stood cleaning Henry’s tank, where Pleck still swims and Goldie once did. He was yet another family member, a goldfish, who passed away just yesterday, throwing me back into what some Buddhist traditions describe as the bardo, that mysterious limbo that skirts the line between life and death. As I refilled the tank, I watched as the water poured from the faucet into the bucket. I considered leaving the water running between dumps, but out of conservation concerns, I did not. However, that simple act made the mental connection. Where does each drop of water go once it flows from the faucet to the sink? It’s not gone, yet you can no longer taste it, touch it or perceive it with any of the traditional five senses. Yet you know it still is — somewhere. It’s like Thich Nhat Hanh speaks of when he makes the allusion to the cloud. Where does a cloud go when it disappears? We do not say a cloud died. We know it is still there, only it has become something else. Each human being is a unique biological creation that can only exist during this moment in time. They’re living flesh made of matter. Evolution shows it — while many people contain traces of Neanderthal DNA, for example, a full-blooded Neanderthal would have a pretty difficult time of things today. Who you are biologically depends on your DNA, but that isn’t the whole story. The science of epigenetics shows us how our life choices can influence our physical manifestation. Each tiny choice we make, from what to eat to how we relate with others, turns some genes on and others off, increases levels of some chemicals and decreases others. But there is something else, too. The decisions we make aren’t mere outputs of our biology: anyone who has kicked an addiction knows it takes a tremendous amount of free will to say no when every dopamine-drenched cell in your body screams, “Yes,YES! And right NOW!” Often in defining our limitations, we find our freedom. Humans are finite, bound by time. They are also mortal, bound by flesh. That mysterious force, the energy behind all of this, driving the green fuse through the big bang flower is the third portion, that which we don’t understand. Humans Have Limited Perspective Because we are bound by time and biology, we cannot possibly know everything or see all there is. All we know is what we can perceive through our senses. We now know there are many more than five , but every human has the same ones in varying amounts, and even that can change slightly throughout life. For example, our time-sense is limited by our biological mortality, which is why the last five minutes of class last forever to bored schoolchildren but each passing day seems progressively shorter as we age and things start moving way too fast. We know that other living creatures have differing perceptions. I remember many times gazing into Poe’s eyes, wondering how he saw the world. He was so good, so patient, so pure, never lashing out in anger, although his life had been every bit as harsh as mine in its own way. Like me, he had been abandoned, discarded, left to survive or perish alone despite being very small and utterly unprepared for the task. I don’t know how he perceived the world, but his example showed me that I could endure suffering with the same grace. That was Poe’s greatest gift, and the part of him that will forever live on: he showed me you do not have to carry forward the evil energy that flowed onto you undeserved. You don’t have the power to know everything in this life; no one does. You may never know why horrific things happened to you or those you love. But where your freedom, your choice comes in while you live is to not carry that energy forward. You are an alchemist while you live and breathe; you determine how you interact with the other energy directed toward you. If it is dark, you can join that sinister chorus — or you can choose to be loving and kind in spite of it, sending that energy forward instead of more negativity. That choice, that energy, is the third magical element that makes people, well, people. We are time-bound, interdependent on everything else happening in the brief 60 to 100 year span where we live and breathe. We are biology-bound, and how we treat our body influences how we act and the choices we make, but they can only influence. That third element, the part that decides, that’s how we take the energy that came before and push it into the future. Poe did it so beautifully. He took everything evil that was done to him and despite it all, was the most loving of cats. And in doing so, he brought out the love in me, love that was buried deep behind walls of defensiveness and ego. He changed the energy of hate into love and showed me how to do the same. See the interconnectedness, how one act of love can create a ripple effect? Our energy, made material through our choices while we live, creates it. What that third element, that green fuse force is, we may never know. Our perception may be limited by time and biology to prohibit it — I don’t know. However, we know it exists. And despite external influences like work pressure and internal forces like biology, we still use it to make independent choices, thus creating our future, and, through extension, humankind’s collective future. Energy Is Never Created Nor Destroyed An old Chinese experiment proved years ago that humans do have an energy field. While Western minds might find the idea of a bodily energy field curious , the stuff of a Sedona aura reading, it’s an integral part of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). Although scientists haven’t classified exactly what it is, some of it appears to be a sort of near-infrared radiation. I remember saying in a yoga class or meditation once that you are your own nuclear reactor of energy. It turns out, that analogy isn’t too far off the mark. Western minds accept Einstein’s theory of relativity, but few mindfully meditate upon it. However, every school child who has taken a basic physics or chemistry course knows that energy is never created nor destroyed. It changes form, true, like Thich Nhat Hanh’s cloud, but it doesn’t disappear. Much of the stuff that is in you, at the elemental level , has existed for millions of years, nearly since the beginning of time. You might not feel that way when you climb out of bed feeling creaky in the joints, but it’s true when you get super teeny tiny, smaller than even the most microscopic cell. You need the unique combination of those elements to make what you think of as you, well, you. That’s why you are one of a kind. There are so many infinitesimally small elements that come together, and that precious combination only happens once. That’s why life is something to cherish, why it is so very wrong to take it, and why death affects us so profoundly. Once someone is gone, they are truly gone forever. What, Then, Remains? The loss of a one-of-a-kind, precious thing that cannot be replaced is enough to drive anyone to madness. Yet, have you ever looked around in the aftermath of death and noticed how life goes on? It stuns you — how can this possibly be? How can others enjoy their lives and possibly be happy? Don’t they know the loss that just occurred? That everything just ended? Only, everything didn’t end. Life goes on because the essential elements that create it remain. The raw material doesn’t go anywhere. It still exists, as does the energy created through it. And if the clay remains, and if that clay is what’s necessary to create the animated form we think of as life, it only makes sense that life will rise again from it. It will never be exactly the same as what came before — but it will be similar. Everything exists in an intricately linked system; understanding that helps you care for it by performing your role in it to the best of your ability. Nor does the energy every living creature transmits during their time here cease to exist. It, too, goes on. Sometimes, it is destructive — we see this as war and murder and oppression continue — but the energy continues to flow. The good also continues — we see this in schools, street and town names, things that honor the efforts of those who have passed, in the way each new scientific achievement builds from the previous ones. It continues in each new generation. Even stars, when they burn through their energy reserves, don’t disappear. They become black holes, and what those mysterious beasts are, no one knows any more than they know where the energy driving all of it came from originally. Some scientists believe they go to infinite multiverses, a universe of universes, going on and on forever like an ever-growing chain. It’s fun to conjecture about what might be, but we have to stay grounded in what we know here on earth. Every hour, every minute, every second, someone dies. Yet every hour, every minute, every second, someone is born. It’s the transition between death and life — the loss of consciousness — that no one understands. Perhaps that’s a part of the beauty of life’s design — you have to be conscious to experience it. In nature’s infinite mercy, she only allows us mortals to perceive the decay of their bodies for so long before sweet oblivion takes over. What happens next, no one knows for sure. Many people believe the energy goes forward, changing into yet another form. Many children have memories of past lives when young that they forget as they age, just as older adults forget much of their youth as time passes. I was one of them. I was raised in a conservative Catholic family where even the mere mention of reincarnation would have been laughable (and diversity was not permitted in my family, so I’m pretty sure my toddler-self didn’t encounter anyone with a different belief system). However, my past life memories felt as real to me at age three or four as memories of the past few years do to me now. Death could be the Universe’s ether, a way of blocking pain when it is too overwhelming for this mortal body to bear. It’s like needing to be put unconscious to undergo surgery, only the transformation happening is that force seeking yet another green fuse to push open a flower. If having your knee or abdomen cut open is too painful to bear while conscious, imagine what it must feel like to shatter at the elemental level. Pain is sometimes necessary — but most of us seek to avoid the worst of it. Pain avoidance lies at the heart of every addiction, and both physical and emotional pain affect the same parts of your brain. It’s what makes broken-heart syndrome a very real phenomenon. Are the twin energies traveling together to whatever comes next, or is the phenomenon simply a physiological overload of stress on your cardiovascular system? Maybe it’s both. We don’t know. We only know what we can measure, what we can perceive. We do know that the Universe provides the ultimate ether as the elements that make up our physical selves break down. It’s why we say death is sometimes merciful in the case of people enduring long-term pain. Suffering can only happen while you are conscious, while you live. Death Unites Us in Our Shared Humanity There’s one thing all humans intuitively understand about death, and that’s its finality. When someone dies, they aren’t coming back to this life where you can see their smiling face, hear their comforting voice or feel the touch of their hand — or fur. They have shattered and spread while we remain whole, except for the empty space next to us where they once sat. We all know this truth, and none of us know for sure what happens next. I know I have my beliefs, but I’m also very aware that they are just that — beliefs. Even though I try to look at things from a scientific perspective, I’m also aware that I’m limited in my perception. And filling in the blanks is very dangerous, so dangerous it sparks wars, destroying precious, unique lives, robbing people of those they love, robbing us of our very humanity. People can now look to artificial intelligence to see what happens when people fill in the blanks of what they don’t know with random ideas. AI hallucinations can sometimes be amusing, but it doesn’t take a genius to see the dangers inherent in letting that information disseminate to the public as truth. While computers can compile research from what’s already known and scan information way faster than any humans, they can’t design and conduct replicable experiments to separate truth from fiction. It’s more vital than ever that people examine their beliefs about death in the light of what we do know, not what we don’t. Humans have created more powerful weapons than ever, capable of obliterating thousands of lives with a single bomb. These weapons would not even exist if people saw through their illusions and admitted that they don’t know what comes next. If each of us truly sits and takes time to reflect on life, how unique it is based on all we know, how each individual life is a one-in-a-Googol chance, we wouldn’t destroy it so carelessly. We would protect it as feverishly as we now protect our homes, gold or national pride. Murder, be it in war or in the street, is destroying something irreplaceable. It may come back in some form — but it will never be the same. And you don’t only kill the dead, but a valuable part of the living by taking from them something you can never give back, something reparations can never repay. When you stop and reflect on life and death in light of what we know — not in light of your belief system — you see how deeply wrong it is to destroy even one life. Because here’s the thing: we all experience death. That sense of loss you have when someone you love dies? The enemy you wish to kill has loved ones that will experience that same sense of loss. What if they are to act on their feeling of revenge and not forgiveness? You see how war continues forever in some regions, as world leaders continue watering seeds of hate, spreading it to others. When you reflect on life and death in light of what we know, not what you believe, you realize that if you want your children born into a peaceful world, then you must work for peace in every word and deed while you are here on earth. Maybe it takes going to a retreat and sitting down with your enemy in deep meditation. It’s certainly better than snuffing out hundreds of innocent lives with one bomb while you sit detached, discussing “strategy.” No matter how strategically you plan, carrying forward that energy of hate will carry forward war and destructive energy. If you want peace for future generations, you must work toward it now, here, while you live, even when it is hard and violence seems easier. Life is how energy changes. There is no other way to create a peaceful future that we know of today. I think about this now as I write these words. What drives me? It is the hope. The hope that people will read these words and reflect mindfully. That they will influence others to walk the path of peace and love. Perhaps it's good that humans don’t know what happens after we die. All we know, collectively, every single one of us who has ever experienced a devastating loss, that there is no other pain like it. Even if you don’t die of broken-heart syndrome, you often wish you did. Can we use that shared pain to unite, not divide us? After all, if no one knows what happens after we die, we should all collectively fight to prolong life as long as possible, not destroy it. I don’t know what that looks like — if it means forcing warmongers into meditation retreats or simply keeping up the loving education — but I know what it doesn’t. It doesn’t look like getting so caught up in your egotistical beliefs about what might happen after death that you destroy life here on earth. Life Is Our Miracle, Our Chance to Change Our Energy Death, in its utter mercilessness, can be a great teacher. It can teach us how to be more merciful, how to tread lightly with one another’s hearts. Instead of hastening each other to earlier graves, not only through war, but through overwork, bad habits and dangerous practices, we can nurture each other through this life. And, as each of us nears our time of transition, we can offer comfort and solace, easing their passage with love. We know that matter is never created nor destroyed. What continues is what we do with the energy we are given throughout our lives within the boundaries of our bodies and time. It is a heavy responsibility, but also a great gift. We create the future, with each choice, with each word, each connection we form with others, each contribution. What we want that future to look like depends on every one of our choices — we are all interdependent. We can use death to bring people together instead of dividing us. Perhaps no place is as steeped in death and the bardo than the Middle East. As I took a necessary break in writing this article this morning for a mindful walk, I listened to a dharma talk by Thich Nhat Hanh, which is my practice for calming my mind. He spoke about having Israelis and Palestinians come together at Plum Village to meditate together. At first it is hard to simply sit and to deeply listen with those you do not even consider people, but enemies, demon-creatures you must destroy. Yet, by the end of ten days, all participants hold hands during walking meditation and break bread together at meals, joyfully, freely, because they recognize their shared humanity. They realize that all of them have suffered the same traumas, in the same way. There might be different actors, but death is death, pain is pain, suffering is suffering. That is what I mean by death is the great equalizer: It unites all of humanity in suffering. Yet, while we still live, while we still breathe, we have the power to change that. Each person who refuses to carry forth the energy of war means that one less child of the future generation will be born into a war-torn world. Each time you hold back an angry, harsh word meant to hurt, each time you restrain your hands from harming another living creature, you change that energy. Try a little experiment sometime. Get mindful enough that you notice when a situation between you and another living being can potentially turn negative. Then try manifesting the energy of understanding, of peace, of letting it go — perhaps make a joke. What could have ended up in an argument can instead unite and bond you with another. It all depends on how you choose to use your precious energy, that stuff that we can’t define with time or biology but know exists while you live and breathe in this form, here and now. Doing so creates the future you want to see and shifts that energy for those who catch it. Negativity can be contagious, but so can positivity. It all begins by reflecting deeply on death and marveling at the priceless secret it reveals: energy and matter may continue, but each unique life only exists once. Let’s use that shared experience to bring us together, and make this kingdom here on earth happy. We know that creating a brighter today begins with each one of us; let’s do the work, beginning with deep mindfulness and listening to each other, finding our shared humanity, even in the suffering of death. When Poe died, it brought everyone in our little Only in Sedona Yoga family together. He transitioned to what’s next surrounded by everyone who loved him and a caring team who delivered him with utmost comfort. None of us can avoid death. But we can all work together to make it possible for everyone to have such a peaceful passage. That is where our beliefs come in, not as a cudgel to destroy other human life but to ease the transition from here to whatever comes next. Coming to Terms With Death on the Yoga Mat Means Coming to Terms With the Unknown I don’t know what happens after we die. No one does. Living with the unknown is hard. As someone with severe anxiety, trust me, I feel it in every fiber of my being. Fear is an ever-present beast I wrangle, and no fear is greater than that of not existing. However, one thing managing an anxiety disorder teaches you is how to act in spite of “I don’t know.” How to find healthy ways to connect with other humans and handle the negative feelings inside of you that can lead to contention with others. I do trust in energy being never created nor destroyed. It is. It simply is. And because it is, we are. The energy that animates each one of us, that puts us in the driver’s seat of this human body we inhabit for a brief moment, has existed since the creation of the Universe — nay, even before, for what did that energy come from? Nothing truly dies, but everything changes. You can’t step into the same river twice, and you can’t hold someone in the earthly realm once their energy has gone from their mortal flesh to wherever it goes next. But you can treasure it while it’s here, and you can continue to spread the love they brought you long after they’re gone. The day before we put Poe to sleep, I spent the entire day with him just lying in bed. Just loving him. Petting his fur. Feeling him breathe. Building the love energy between us, the same love energy that sends tears rolling down my face as I write these words, sobbing the same desolate, inchoate cries from the depths of my being. And when the grief gets too much and the emotions overwhelm and I feel like I myself may die, I remind myself that what I am feeling is the love we created while he lived. The emotions are powerful because the love we created is powerful. That lives on through me. It makes me conscious that the choices I make daily reflect that love, my actions reflect the effect he had on me, and I want to honor his memory by being the best me I can be. I want to take the lesson of peace he taught me and share it with the world. I can think of no better way to honor his legacy. I can’t pet Poe anymore. I can’t see him. But oh, how I can feel the love we shared. And I can spread that love forward in what I say and what I do. Doing so might not answer the question of what happens after we die. Every day, I wonder where my beloved Poe is now. Every day, the raven whispers, “Poe is nevermore.” I know that is true in one sense. But to that raven, I quoth back, no, Poe is forevermore. His love was his legacy. All of this, all of us, all of existence, is forevermore. What that existence will look like, though, depends on the decisions we make while alive. Poe’s brief, shining moment shows us how to make that existence, our brief time here, beautiful.