Heaven on Earth...Are You Paying Attention?

Heaven on Earth...

Keynote presentation at Yavapai College during the induction of

“Women Who Make a Difference” in the Verde Valley

I have experienced Heaven on Earth. Or Nirvana. Or Dharma. Whatever you need to call it, I have experienced it…and so have you.

Shortly before spring began, for example, there was a gentle breeze and some rare puffy white clouds, tinged with the gray that can precede a looming storm, but at that point reflected only the specter, not the reality of rain.

Around me curtains billowed making pregnant bellies with their middles, then popping into a swirl and settling back waiting for the next breeze.

  

It was too early in the spring for the birds to return in great numbers, but I heard some tweeps and even recognized the sweet mourn of a nearby dove. A neighbor’s wind chime bumped into itself without much enthusiasm; a few dings and dongs wove their way soundward. The ever faithful neighborhood canines declared their joy of the day (or is it their intent to gleefully tear out your throat if you step on their property?!?); whichever, it the sound of pure, unadulterated joy.

These moments of Heaven on Earth are a feast for all the senses and the spirit. It reminds me of my Philosophy of Life, which is “Love your Neighbor” (unless you are the product of a 1950s Methodist Sunday School; then you’ll probably say Love THY Neighbor. I guess that makes it more official!)

At any rate: “Love Thy Neighbor, Keep Your House Clean” (nope, not keep THY house clean), just keep it clean. Your house here, of course, represents your physical house, your spiritual house, your emotional house and your mental house. It’s all gotta be clean for you to become a regular visitor to Heaven on Earth.

So…”Love Thy Neighbor, Keep Your House Clean and Be Kind to Animals”. That’s it.

When I gave this presentation, I saw a few people taking notes.

No doubt they thought this philosophical discussion was going much deeper.

While we’re on earth, we’re all bound, more or less, by the constrictions of gravity and physics in general. It’s how it works on our planet. But a few blissful moments spent in a hot tub on a quiet Sunday morning with the sun shining just enough and earth warming just enough to encourage a few errant irises to raise their purple beards, and we’ve got a touch of heaven. Right here, right now. And we’ve got work to do.

You may not be like this, but there are people like me who are comfortable with the topic of death. It’s the work I was put on earth to do. I’ve gotten some training in order to be of assistance because when I experienced a long- ago heavenly moment, I was shown, clearly, that working with death and dying is my life work.

Nope, not what I do for money. My Work, with a Capital W.

And when I sat with my friend who was in the process of making hard end-of-life decisions and discussing them with her family a few years ago, I felt my mood lift. The entire time I was with her, listening, answering questions, being helpful where possible, I felt just fine. Not sad at all. I made eye contact with my friend, a smart lady who had spent the last year of her life confined to her bed and had decided to quit eating and drinking to allow her body to die.

We have a bond, then and still. Why? Because I understand what she wanted. I can speak death. And it won’t kill me! Or you.

Now, I’m not going to suggest that everybody go out and learn to speak death. Not at all. That’s my Life Work. Yours is something else. It could be helping kids who have abuse issues or helping women find out who they are, empowering them to be in charge of themselves. Perhaps you teach people to read, or grow a garden or volunteer or simply and lovingly make sure your children are taken care of and nurtured. Whatever your Life Work is, you’ll know it.

How? Well, it’s those times when, even in the face of pressure and stress you don’t feel overwhelmed (though, yes, you may feel sad or lonely or even experience some reluctance to take the actions)…and  you follow through. You’re good to your word. You show up and you do your part. Sometimes you even volunteer for the tough duty…because it’s your Life Work, after all.

And in the doing, we each experience tiny touches of Heaven on Earth. Moments when the Universe is in order. When everything feels just right and our oxytocin flows.

In those moments we are living life in such a way as to experience Heaven on Earth. Hopefully we are savoring each moment of it and being grateful. Then, rolling up our sleeves and once again doing our part to make the earth a better place to live, even in those not-so-heavenly moments.

An artist friend of mine recently said, (although she swears that words aren’t her medium): Heaven on Earth is when one’s felt rhythms feel part of the pulse of what keeps us together – in one piece, in motion – yet each moment different, special unto itself. And also when your five year old grandchild, with big serious eyes asks you, “Do carrots cry?“

Yep, I’ve experienced Heaven on Earth…and so have you. I hope we’re all paying attention, recognizing and enjoying it.

On the Beach - A Movie About Choices at the End of Life

On the Beach is a beautiful movie about making decisions at the end of life. I saw it first as a child and it affected me profoundly, probably giving me my start on knowing that we must all have the right to make the decision – when the time comes – how, where and with whom we die.

If you haven’t seen the film in decades, you’ll be surprised at its modern look and feel. If you’ve never seen it, find it to see how the 1950's world sought to deal with the “end of the world” as wrought upon us by what is simply referred to in the film as “the war.”

The war has caused a nuclear holocaust and every living thing is going to die. When we join the characters (and, okay, some of them are pretty standard issue: the hysterical young woman, the older woman with a past and a heart of gold, the silent but deep Naval Captain!), everyone except those who live in Australia are already dead, save a group of intrepid American sailors who were underwater and managed to survive the radiation poisoning. Until now.

In Australia, the government has issued everyone a small handful of pills to take when the end is near. The people line up to receive their magic medicine so they won’t have to suffer too much. Husbands and wives have to decide when to take the pills; when to administer them to their children. Strong men have to face the fact that they can’t conquer this massive loss of life caused by their own macho, nationalist folly. A death of their own doing.

It slips into melodrama from time to time, but the cast is so beautiful (most of them dead now: Ava Gardner, Gregory Peck, Anthony Perkins, Fred Astaire) that we can forgive them for histrionics as they face extinction that we’ve not had to face on a global scale.

It’s the small stories that inspire. A young sailor jumps ship to spend his last few days fishing from his favorite pier near his home in a totally deserted San Francisco, telling his captain that there are “more than 200 drug stores” in town so he’s pretty sure he can find the right drugs when the time comes. His decision is solid. He knows what he wants.

The young married couple is able, finally, to face their greatest fears. He chooses not to go back on the submarine, which is making a final trip back to America, just so that he can hold his wife in his arms as the medicine works, just after their baby has slept her final sleep.

The captain of the submarine chooses to leave his new love to be among his men when the time comes. Ava Gardner plays the love interest and she is, finally, strong enough to let him go, made better by knowing him and better by knowing how she will die, among her friends, at home.

Though the movie was an allegory for what might happen due to the Cold War, it resonates with inspiration as the characters choose how their lives will end. (Not all choose the drugs, by the way, a fiery car crash is how one character wants to go.)

This movie will generate lots of discussion if watched in a group. No doubt there are those who still believe that mankind should suffer to the last moment, but those of us who voluntarily work with individuals who are dying have overcome that way of thinking for the most part.

And you’ll never, ever hear Waltzing Matilda in the same way again.

The Will to Live...Not my Natural State

When I Lose the Will to Live

I don’t have any gray area…despite an amazing recovery from a life-long depression, I still go straight from “everything is fine” to “I want to die.” Though I keep a long list of "Reasons to Live" right beside my desk...my tendency is to lose that will, sometimes suddenly. Fortunately I can usually remedy it these days with...a nap.

This feeling could be brought on by something catastrophic such as the loss of a close friend or I say, only half-jokingly something as simple as a bad hair day…or a hangnail. My awareness that it passes quickly helps me cope these days. For much of my life it was a challenge to survive such times, as I would totally lose the will to live in a flash.

Fortunately the Universe saw fit to ignore my many pleas for death as I waded through a lifetime of depression; either low-grade chronic or acute episodes, it didn’t matter. My connectedness to this life is tenuous on the surface and only slightly less flimsy on the metaphysical level. 

Today, with depression in the rear view mirror, I can joke about it. But for 40 years of my lifetime, it was the set of circumstances that ruled me. Even now, in the best of times, I’m ready and willing to die when my time comes. Some might say eager. To me, after intensive physical and metaphysical study, it’s just going home...and sometimes we all get homesick.

While that serves me in my work with those who are actively dying – my lack of fear seems to buoy them up to face their fears – it has been a struggle in other areas of life. For example the sudden draining away of life energy for seemingly minor problems. A curse…and a gift.

Talking to a lovely friend who is, in fact, facing end of life issues and illustrating this analogy as regards going into hospice, I said that hospice is there for you when you lose the will to live. "Hospice", I said, "is the best way to stay alive when you're dying." 

People who go into hospice early in the process feel better and even flourish as they continue their path to end of life. Many who were overwhelmed by the simplest tasks find renewed energy when hospice is present. 

Hospice, as I said to my friend, will “clip your potentially fatal hangnail” before you even notice it.

When my time comes, I’m calling hospice the first moment. I know that they can help with pain management and emotional stability as well as the myriad of things we need to decide upon when there is, in fact, time at the end of life. Though we all want to “die in our sleep” after a long and healthy life, I may be a little disappointed if I drop dead suddenly and miss the chance to be in hospice. I want to be pampered to death by that amazing program. The level of care, of pure humanity in those organizations is as close as we come to getting health care right.

Maggie

She started out as an individual who needed more information about dying. That’s why she contacted me. She was angry and had an attitude that caused her to literally be dismissed from so-called support groups! Too young to die at 63, but with a diagnosis that promised no hope beyond a few months, she told me that she was foregoing treatment at the recommendation of her doctors. 

But as the months rolled on, it became apparent that she was not going to die on schedule. The three-to-six months’ prognosis found her still standing, still angry, but ready to discuss it. And that’s when I met her.

My views of death are profoundly my own. For whatever reasons, I have never experienced a “bad death” and I’ve been working with death and dying for decades now. The people I talk to and/or volunteer with seem to find a sort of peace, often even willingness once the end is near. I admire that and am encouraged both on a personal level and for those with whom I work.

Ah, but my dear Maggie. She was simply not interested in dying and had refused to study it, though she researched every topic in which she had even the most remote curiosity. When I have tried to wax rapturously on (what I perceive to be) the beauty of the experience of death and dying, she sent my philosophy packing and continued to address the practicalities of wills, trusts, care for her aged mother, helping provide for her grown-up sons and being there for her still-employed husband.

Because we stayed in touch and because I would listen to her when she needed to discuss death on her own terms, we became fast friends. When I got a new boyfriend, she told me that our budding relationship would probably be the “most exciting” thing to “happen to her” until she died. I shared everything with her. She advised me. I listened.

We emailed every day, usually more than one, and spoke frequently. I made her laugh. She made me think. I encouraged her to feel her feelings. She encouraged me to overlook some of the things that “men do”. Because of her, I stayed with my new beau long enough to begin to fall in love. She helped me change my life. I helped her prepare for death.

But last night she finally finished dying. It took her three years, not three months, and no doubt she had plenty left to do to keep the world running smoothly once she was gone, but her body, which had supported her well despite being on task to die, finally stopped and let her rest.

Her husband just called and I cried. Then we found something to laugh about. Then we spoke with our hearts. Then, after hanging up, I cried again. I’m happy she’s done with all this, but sad she suffered toward the end. Hospice helped, but she put it off until the very end. In fact, she never actually laid down until the cancer got to her brain. She was still flying around the country until less than a month ago, clutching her (never used) meds to use to die on her own terms. But she waited too long.

That was probably for the best. It gave her sons and her husband time to spend at the bedside, actually saying goodbye. I’m a big proponent of dying on your own terms, when and how you want to. But I have personally experienced the value of letting your family gather to say goodbye.

Maggie and I had a profound connection based on mutual admiration and respect. Plus I loved her shining soul. She didn’t show it to many; I was among the honored few who looked into her eyes and saw her spirit. Not her spirited Type A personality. Everybody that knew her encountered that. I saw her vulnerable, hurting, scared, wickedly funny inner self. Thank the gods she showed it to somebody. We bonded deeply. I will miss her immeasurably.

Bon voyage, Dear Maggie. See you there, wherever there is.

Death Wish? No...Death Whish!

Yesterday I met a new death and dying client. I call these precious people "clients" though I don't charge them for meeting. Mostly I just listen. They need to talk.

         Talking about death, or even listening to others talk about death alters my consciousness. I feel my head swim, just a little. It’s not exactly a “high” more of a buzz. Still it’s an interesting phenomenon that I wanted to document.

          Some years ago I spent a couple of hours talking to a gentleman who had written a book on the certainty that, either consciously or unconsciously, we can choose when we want to die. The conversation was lively. When I left his home I found that I almost couldn’t remember how to drive. I was buzzed, strictly by the discussion. My mind was loopy, euphoric.

          It’s more evidence to me that death, at least in my experience, is not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t get this way when I discuss my pets, my work, books, movies or any other topic; nothing else does this to my feelings of inner wellbeing. Discussing death releases my oxytocin almost as certainly as falling in love does!

          On another occasion I talked to a new friend about death in general. She was tense, not certain to whom she was telling her secrets. So I said that there are many of us, myself included, who look at death as nothing more than going home. Her shoulders dropped and her face relaxed and she said, “Yes, that’s it exactly.” Again, my consciousness – and hers – was changed.

          Now you may say that I’m just close to the edge (and some, with various levels of affection, might say “over” it) and able to change consciousness on a whim. That’s probably true, too. But sharing thoughts of a deceased loved one with a friend in her grief must in and of itself change us on some level. In my case it changes me for the good. I don’t feel bad. I feel better.

          Feeling better is something we all seek. The psychological term (and one of my favorite words) is homeostasis: seeking balance, a return to the place in which we’re most comfortable. My Psych 101 instructor used the example of a toilet: during the flush there is dramatic movement, noise, gurgling and then, when it reaches the place in which it is “comfortable” all sound stops. There is silence and the water calms. The illustration has always worked for me.

          Ergo, if discussing death makes me feel better, calmer, it follows that I have found my true Life’s Work.

        So I will continue to do whatever work I can as a volunteer. I will step up where I can and I will step away when I need to.

          I’ll just keep up the good work, talking freely about a subject many fear. I’ll be a happy emissary of the grim reaper, enjoying a topic that makes me feel better than any other and may possibly be of value to others.

Death Calls

When there is death people call me. A few days ago, a distraught call from an acquaintance who had a particularly horrible death in her circle. Unexpected. A very young man. No explanation, even after the autopsy. I listened. It is very sad and an awful thing for the mother of the young man to experience (she found his body).

Today a friend had to have her dog put down. She called on her way to the Vet to see if she could come by afterward. I offered to meet her there, but she said she just wanted to know there is a safe place to go after he's gone. She came. We had tea and cried and hugged.

Death is a sad but natural thing. Those of us with animals go through it many times in a lifetime. But parents should never have to go through it with a child; that comes close to qualifying as "unnatural death". The structure of life in the physical sense, abhors such an aberration. Metaphysically, broken hearts never, ever heal when a child is lost.

But sometimes the other realms call strongly to us. And sometimes the young can hear the call more clearly than we. With fewer barriers between a young person and the creative spirit from whence we came, they may find it easier to take the step through the door. Those of us left behind are devastated. All death is devastating; the death of a child unbearable.

Yet somehow we do bear it. We manage to live through the loss. Our worlds may crumble when we lose someone we love, whether a child, a parent, a friend or sibling or, yes, even a pet. The length of time it takes to recover varies, but for a while, we are bereft and broken. 

And really, there is no recovery...just a new normal. Life was like "that" and now it's like "this". We hate it and curse the Universe! We threaten to leave our spiritual roots, for surely there is no god! We distance ourselves from our families, our friends, friends of the deceased. And we cry. For hours. Days. Weeks. Not every minute of every day, but enough minutes that the pain seems ceaseless. 

Those who call me find a willing listener; a person who, though sharing the pain, does not share the fear. Not that I'm stronger than others, I simply have a broad perspective on the end of life. I can still see the big picture when others are stuck in the horror, the denial, the unimaginable grief. I can imagine it. I've experienced it. I'm here if anyone wants to talk.

I think it helps. I hope it does. I know it helps people who are dying. The listening ear of someone who's not afraid, offered freely. Someone who will listen to the most dreadful fears without judgment. Someone who will allow the dying to say whatever needs saying. 

On occasion the person who is dying will say to me: "I want to die". We discuss it, what it might be like to die. What might - or might not - be next. How they want to face death. How they want to be remembered. Sometimes we cry together. More often than you might suppose, we laugh. Death is absurd when seen from the physical sense. Our vibrancy is gone. Our strong and wonderful bodies...bags of bones. 

Humankind has a natural fear of death and our society has stretched that into an industry (or two) with the specific purpose of challenging death. Sometimes we "win" for the short-term, but Death always wins in the long term. 

So I am honored when people call me to discuss death: before, during, after or something in the far away future. It is what I am here to do. Listen. Smile when nobody else is smiling. Hug away a tear or offer a shoulder while tears fall in waterfalls of pain. 

I'm grateful to have this gift of fearlessness. Oh, I still have fears. A spider can cause me to leap up on a coffee table and scream, yes, like a little girl. But my anchors, my connection to this earth and other realms, allow me to face the end of life without anxiety.

Looking at Death One Day at a Time

Nineteen young lives gone in a flash. Men in the prime of their lives, fighting a wildfire nearby. A deep sadness hangs over our town, along with a shroud of smoke. We’ll never understand why. There is no reason why. It’s a tragic part of life. The end of life.

Sometimes death is a longed-for release. I’ve been with elderly souls who desperately want to escape their battered and aching bodies. To a person, each of them has told me, “I’m ready”. Sometimes they changed their minds a few minutes – or a few days – later and asked, “Why me?” But the only answer to that question is easy, if brutal: we all die.

And while we have no means with which to prepare ourselves for the sudden onslaught of the death of many innocent souls, we can, no matter what age we are, prepare ourselves and our families, especially as we (or they) begin to near a foreseen end of life. Both my parents are gone now and I, the person the family turns to when death approaches, helped my dad and my brother prepare for Dad’s death. He was deeply beloved by another family member, his constant companion for the twenty years he lived after Mom died, and she was unable to prepare herself. There simply was no way for her to “get ready” to lose the man to whom she devoted herself, tirelessly and selflessly, for all those years.

Still it is my strong contention that it is an act of love for us to talk to our family, friends and others about death to help them see it, not as some totally terrifying monster, but as the natural function of our body’s shutting down. Our society has removed us from the actualities of death in many cases, leaving the dying in hospitals with tubes attached and alarms going off while we commiserate in waiting rooms with bad coffee. We wait to hear what the doctor has to say rather than knowing, because we had a talk with the person who is dying before he or she got to this point, what’s important to him, or her, at the end of life.

My dream is to see the discussion of death brought out of the closet before I die. I hope to see death become, as I’ve heard it said, “Dinner table conversation.” For only when we talk about it can we hope to decrease the fear of it and lessen the pain by the sharing of concerns before they become grotesque, dreadful monsters.

A trained hospice volunteer and end of life advocate, people talk to me about death. Total strangers must see something in me as this very morning while I was having blood drawn for some lab tests, the technician expressed her deep sadness over the loss of the nineteen young fire fighters. It wasn’t appropriate, but it was real, which overrides all criteria of political correctness when discussing death. We each said a few things and felt a shared sadness, and then went on with our daily lives. It didn’t kill us to talk about death.

And it won’t kill you either. Please bring it up. Face your fears so that others who matter to you can face theirs. Maybe by reading this blog you’ll find the strength and courage to become a death advocate yourself, whether professionally or personally, so that your life can be more fulfilling and your death less horrifying. I hope so.

Thanks for taking time to read this. Other posts will follow on a regular basis.