Death | What Staring into the Abyss Teaches Us
“What did it matter if he existed for two or for twenty years? Happiness was the fact that he had existed.” Albert Camus.
It’s striking how many of us keep death at a distance. It’s like our collective taboo; we’re hiding it, covering it with life’s superficial pleasures - be it entertainment, substances, or simply keeping ourselves on the wheel, running, so we don’t have to face its reality. But, deep inside, we all know that it’s there. In fact, it’s all around us, constantly, in the ongoing process of growth and decay.
For some reason, we seem to emphasize the former, while shying away from the latter. But both are part of life. And sometimes, when we lose someone close, death can be an unexpected but intimidating force for contemplation. On a personal level, I’ve been dealing with loss lately and situations in which death stared me in the face.
On one occasion, I had to literally drop my final words, walk out of the door, knowing that I’ll never see that person alive again. Aside from the fact that I’m grateful to have had this opportunity, this whole idea is spine-chilling. It’s the ultimate reminder that life will end. It’s almost if you’re standing on a cliff and the person is about to fall down, and there’s nothing you can do about it, except saying what you want to say. And that, someday, it’s your turn to take the dive into the abyss of the unknown as well.
Now, several things happened when I stared death in the eye, even though I, like many, cannot even comprehend what death really is. And whether or not we should fear it. Could it be a portal to a next life comparable to the circumstances on earth, or is death just the end: the eternal blackness of not-being? No one can answer this question with complete certainty, and that’s what it makes universally frightening.
And it might be the core fear of the unknown, that most religious traditions try to eradicate by providing answers. The Abrahamic religions, for example, refer to heaven or paradise as opposed to hell. Depending on how we have lived our lives here on earth, we end up in one of those places or somewhere in between: also known as the purgatory. The Buddhists believe in reincarnation, and that the matter of rebirth also depends on how we have lived on earth.
But coming from a non-religious background, like the majority of the people in my personal environment, death, at the end of the day, is one big mystery. And, again, the great abyss can be pretty frightening. When I realized that the final moment had come, not only the impermanence of life became clearer to me; but also the permanence of death.
And with the latter, I mean that from our limited human perception, when someone dies, this person won’t come back. Unless there is another realm in which we get united with our loved ones, this separation is final. There’s no return. And this realization is where the power of truth comes in. And with truth, I don’t just mean words, but emotions as well. The truth is very strong.
We can try to hide the truth, to lock it up somewhere deep inside of us, but when faced with the permanence of death, it starts knocking on our door. Subconsciously, I think, it knows that this is the moment to be revealed. This is the only shot we get; the last opportunity to release its tremendous energy or to forever carry it with us. Now, even though this release isn’t necessary; it surely is a powerful way to find a sense of closure.
From everyone I have spoken to so far, who had this kind of closure - often a very emotional experience - not one regretted it. Also, the idea of only having one shot in the face of death can truly enlighten us. We find out, first hand, that life is too short for overthinking and hesitation. And that it’s better to not postpone speaking our minds and feeling our feelings.
Some people can walk around with resentment for many years, not giving themselves permission to let it out. But putting our ego aside, and just speak, or do what we’re hesitating to do for so long, is cathartic. So, it seems that to transcend the ego, many people need something humbling enough to do so; something they perceive as larger than the story produced by their own minds, that they have been clinging to so fiercely. Death is truly humbling.
I can say that, even though my experiences with death are limited compared to many other people. The permanence of separation forces us to acknowledge our human bond; and that this connection, probably on a far deeper and subconscious level, goes beyond all constructs of the mind. We might have built resentment for someone over the years and we might have countless reasons why we do not want to associate with this person.
But when he or she dies, we are often quick to forgive, or, at least, put our story on the backburner and prioritize the relationship we have as humans. For the same reason, we often see petty family disputes dissolve overnight when a family member dies. Our human affairs, our little disagreements and squabbles, all seem so unimportant when we are confronted with this big, mysterious darkness that awaits us all.
As God is for religious people, death is also an ultimate concern - for all of us, no matter what we believe in. In a way, death even serves as a collective enemy - an entity that most of us try to avoid and that can cause so much grief when it separates us from the people we love. And there is nothing that binds people, as a collective enemy does.
As humans, we might want to contemplate death more often. Not just to realize the shortness of life, but also to remember that all sentient beings have the same destination. Everything that seemingly divides us - IQ, race, social status, gender, species - are quite insignificant compared to this great commonality we share.
We are all on the same absurd boat ride into a darkness that creates an eternal division between one another. We are born, we die, we don't know where we come from, we don't know where we are going. And no matter if it's been two years or twenty years: we can all say that we have lived.
Thank you for watching.