Meeting My Death

The August sun was baking the scenery in the redwoods of northern California. About 80 of us had gathered at a former Boy Scout camp in Mendocino County for “Deep Ecology Summer School.” We were all milling about on a large open field waiting for the session to begin. Leading today’s exercises was faculty member Joanna Macy.

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“Look around and find someone you’d like to work with and go introduce yourself to that person,” Joanna instructed us. I was immediately drawn to a young woman with prominent cheekbones, a dazzling smile, and long dark hair. We made eye contact and moved toward each other. Her name was Cindy, and she was from San Francisco. We chatted amiably as we waited for additional instructions. Both of us were shocked by what came next.

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“Your partner represents your death. In a minute you’ll all start to walk randomly around the field while trying to avoid eye contact with your partner. Stay within the boundaries of the field. At some point, you will inevitably make eye contact and when you do, sit down together, and talk about what is like to meet your death. Any questions?”

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There were none.

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“Okay, start walking.”

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We all began to wander around the field studiously turning away whenever our partners came into line of sight. My mind was racing and my stomach churning. My death? Seriously? I was in my 30s, the thought of death filled me with dread and this lovely woman was going to be my death! My internal state contrasted sharply with the outer calm of that peaceful summer day.

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As I recall, I walked around the field for about half an hour. I watched as other pairs came together and sat down. I noticed how animated their conversations were and I wondered what Cindy and I would say to each other when the time came. She came into my line-of-sight numerous times, but we always managed to avoid eye contact until we were one of just a handful of couples still walking around. Inevitably we looked at each other and slowly moved together to sit on the warm grass.

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My stomach fluttered as we sat down but then I began to think, hmm… this isn’t so bad. If this is what death looks like, well things could certainly be worse! We looked at each other, it was clear neither of us wanted to speak first. After a few minutes, I asked, “How is this for you?” She looked thoughtful and answered, “Less scary than I anticipated. As I was walking, I kept thinking to myself, I really don’t want to face my death. But now that we’re here, I realize it’s not what I thought it would be. You have kind eyes. I always thought death would look at me with cruel menacing eyes. In an odd way, this is actually quite comforting. It’s quite unexpected really. How about you?”

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“Wow! That is so close to my own experience! I was feeling so uneasy as I walked around, and I did all that I could not to make eye contact with you. The whole time I was nearly terrified to face you. But as you said, now that we are here, it’s not bad at all. I feel like a big weight has been lifted from me. I know that at some point death will come for me, but now I think I can greet it as a friend. I don’t have nearly the same fear of death that I did at the start of this exercise. Frankly, it’s kind of amazing.”

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“Yes, exactly!”

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We continued to talk for a while longer, exploring our feelings and experiences about death – she had not had anyone significant in her life die, whereas I had lost both parents, all of my aunts and uncles, and a few friends around my age. Before we knew it Joanna called us all together to debrief the process. We were surprised to learn that virtually everyone reported some variation on the conversation that Cindy and I had had. We all started off with fear and anxiety and then when we met our death face-to-face and talked with our death, we each found that death is not nearly as fearsome as we had anticipated.

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It’s coming up on thirty years since that summer day. I know that death is much closer to me now than it was back then. Though in truth, death is always just one breath away so, “closer” here refers not to physical proximity but to time. I’ve thought of that exercise many times over the years and lately thoughts of death show up for me far more frequently than in my younger years.

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I find myself appreciating life far more than I used to. The explosion of flavor on my tongue when I bite into a ripe strawberry, the warmth and affection I feel when petting a dog or a cat, the beauty of the lines in a aged and weatherworn face, the comforting presence of old friends, the desire to bless young people, to wish them well on their journey, for their future will surely be filled with far more peril than the time I’ve lived through, the satisfaction I derive from tending my garden, the love that endures after 34 years with my wife, the release that laughter brings when I hear a good joke, the pleasure of walking in nature, the gratitude that comes from forgiving those whom I judge as having wronged me and living my life with fewer burdens than I carried formerly. Of course, I would like to keep going for as long as I have my health and my marbles and can be of use to the world. At the same time, I no longer have any fear of death. I think Whitman had it right, “To die is different from what anyone supposes, and luckier.” I know that when death comes for me, it will be like meeting an old friend, someone who has accompanied me every day of my life. Someone has witnessed with a compassionate eye and a tender heart all my joys and all my sorrows, all my triumphs and all my failures, all my brilliance and all my shadows. Someone who will take my hand and guide me down a new path of mystery. And who knows? Maybe she’ll be a lovely young woman come to take me home again.

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