Post: #1

A friend sent this to me after my sister died. I liked it so much that I bought Stephen Jenkinson's book Die Wise and am reading it now.

https://www.nfb.ca/film/griefwalker/

Quote:This documentary introduces us to Stephen Jenkinson, once the leader of a palliative care counselling team at Toronto's Mount Sinai Hospital. Through his daytime job, he has been at the deathbed of well over 1,000 people. What he sees over and over, he says, is "a wretched anxiety and an existential terror" even when there is no pain. Indicting the practice of palliative care itself, he has made it his life's mission to change the way we die - to turn the act of dying from denial and resistance into an essential part of life.

It's better to get your coping tools in place before death happens, because if you or someone is dying, you may not be able to emotionally handle talking much about it.

Post: #2

Thanks for this post Roosh. I'm checking out the book and watched the documentary.

You might also be interested in How We Die, written by a Yale physician. Personally I found this book to be very helpful in contextualizing my grandmother's death while I was working overseas. She died suddenly and it caused great grief in the family, especially for my mother who was unable to visit her before her death. My mom hadn't seen grandma in over 5 years because of finances (they lived in different countries). I think it was the sudden heart attack and rapid death that made everyone in the family feel like how unfair it was. I read this book and it helped me realize that my grandmother's sudden death was actually a blessing because she died with minimal suffering for herself and the family. Eventually my mom came around to the idea that it was for the better that grandma didn't spend years suffering in hospitals and care facilities, although she still feels guilt for not having seen her before her death.

Post: #3

If you're a fan of Buddhism, Making Friends With Death is a good read.

Next on my list:

-The Tibetan Book Of The Dead
-The Smell of Rain on Dust
-The Death of Ivan Ilyich

Post: #4

In older cultures and eastern cultures, death was a celebrated and a even festive event. It was considered a normal and a healthy part of the life cycle.

But in the west when materialism, status and youth worship took over over the culture, and families broke down to single hood, death was put into the closet.

That is why I think the culture has deformed and people are not real anymore but live in delusion.

The west strongly needs new philosophers ( Like Jordan Peterson) that will bring people back into reality again.

Post: #5

(04-15-2018 04:50 PM)Roosh Wrote:  If you're a fan of Buddhism, Making Friends With Death is a good read.

Next on my list:

-The Tibetan Book Of The Dead
-The Smell of Rain on Dust
-The Death of Ivan Ilyich

I have a hard copy of the Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

There are a few sutras devoted to the dying and the dead. Some of them take hours to read, others, days, some of them only minutes.

Probably the one that gets advised the most is the Heart Sutra. It has many forms. Translations being difficult. It is also probably the shortest Sutra, taking only a minute or so. I like this version:

http://path.homestead.com/heartsutra.html

The Heart Sutra

When the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara
Was coursing in the deep Prajna Paramita,
He perceived that all Five Skandhas are empty.
Thus he overcame all ills and suffering

O Sariputra, Form does not differ from Emptiness
And Emptiness does not differ from Form.
Form is Emptiness and Emptiness is Form.
The same is true for Feelings,
Perceptions, Volitions and Consciousness.

Sariputra, the characteristics of the
Emptiness of all Dharmas are
Non-Arising, Non-Ceasing, Non-Defiled,
Non-Pure, Non-Increasing, Non-Decreasing.

Therefore, in the Emptiness there are no Forms,
No Feelings, Perceptions, Volitions or Consciousness
No Eye, Ear, Nose, Tongue, Body or Mind;
No Form, Sound, Smell, Taste, Touch or Mind Object;
No Realm of the Eye,
Until we come to no realm of Consciousness.
No Ignorance and also no ending of Ignorance,
Until we come to no Old Age and Death and
No ending of Old Age and Death.
Also, there is no Truth of Suffering,
Of the Cause of Suffering,
Of the Cessation of Suffering, Nor of the Path

There is no Wisdom, and there is no Attainment whatsoever
Because there is nothing to be attained,
The Bodhisattva relying on Prajna Paramita has
No obstruction in his mind

Because there is no obstruction, he has no hearing,
And he passes beyond confused imagination.
And reaches Ultimate Nirvana.

The Buddhas of the Three Worlds,
By relying on Prajna Paramita
Have attained Supreme Enlightenment.

Therefore, the Prajna Paramita is the Great Mantra,
The Mantra of Illumination, the Supreme Mantra,
Which can truly protect one from all suffering without fail.

Therefore he uttered the Mantra of Prajna Parmita:
Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha



Another very popular one is the Amitabha Sutra.

[PDF]
http://www.cloudwater.org/uploads/text%2...0Sutra.pdf


I also came across a new one today to add to my collection:

http://www.cttbusa.org/amitabha/amitabha.htm


All these are very good Sutras. They shouldn't take up too much of your time.

I'm preparing myself to read some that take a whole day to read. But I wouldn't inflict that on anyone else.

There is also the Diamond Sutra as well.

All of them should provide some insight and some comfort, should you be in a position beyond raw grief to take them in.

There also isn't any law against someone making up their own Sutra to a loved one. In fact it is encouraged. And the more you draw upon known Sutras the better.


To be glib and irreverent, this is mine:

Form is Emptiness and Emptiness is Form.


But then again, that is longer than some of the very shortest Sutras.

"Amitoufo" - You only need to repeat this word over and over again. It's related to the Amitabah Sutra above.

Amitoufo.

Post: #6

Stephen Jenkinson is right - a lot of people in the west think of death as separate from life and are completely unprepared for it when it comes.

It's cool you brought up Jordan Peterson, Bain. I've been listening to some of his talks. One is about Noah's Ark and he uses the flood as a metaphor for life's unpredictability and tragedy. Even the best life will have a great flood eventually - either you or someone you know. You can either prepare a little bit at a time, or ignore the threat entirely and be swept away when it comes. "The thing that survives the flood is the master that prepares a boat".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4q0_gQn84xk

Another distinction Jordan Peterson makes is between tragedy and evil. Tragedy is a loved one dying of natural causes. It's a neutral force in the universe that can be handled well or not-so-well. It can even be an opportunity for growth. Evil is tragedy compounded with human sociopathy - say, family members arguing about their inheritance after a loved one dies. Or becoming a drug addicted, anti-social recluse because of a traumatic event. You can't avoid tragedy. But you can avoid evil.

I suppose this ties into stoicism. Many life events are a blank canvas. How they color your life is entirely up to you.

Post: #7

Great topic. My sister is a home care nurse and sees this stuff a lot, and this is something we've both talked about a lot, how it's a shame our culture has a horror with death.

For me, there were a couple moments with old people near the end, somehow both strangely different but similarly disconcerting:

One was having my former grandfather-in-law in the hospital after he'd had a heart attack. He was sick in a hospital bed with oxygen up his nose and said, "I'm ready to go"...which of course all of his loved ones just shrugged off. I remember thinking, this guy isn't on death's door, but if he was, why can we not accept that. It's funny though, he'd lived a long full life, knew it wasn't going to be much longer anyway, and he was at peace with dying. He lived a few more years then died of old age.

One was my grandpa. He was old and had diabetes and some cardio problems, but wasn't in too bad of shape...but then he slipped and fell, hard enough to mess up his vitals. He was basically in and out of a pseudo coma for a few months before my grandma let him go. But he fought and fought, wanted to get out of his bed even in his half coma. He was a fighter and sure as shit didn't want to die, but also not taking care of himself as he'd aged (why he fell).

I can't say what's ideal in both scenarios, but both scenarios seemed not ideal. One was a guy who was content accepting death, and our Western uber-science culture couldn't let it happen, and one was an old man at the brink violently afraid of death.

Also, they may not even be great examples, but the idea of pro-death vs anti-death is ridiculous. It's as if our pro-sciences Western culture is a bit too conceptual to deal with the metaphysical. I believe it's why Jordan Peterson is blowing up. I think he brings a good dose of empiricism to our otherwise rational world (correct me if I'm using the wrong terms).

Since I'm the second one mentioning JP... My sister texted me last week after she's been listening to a lot of JP as well..."the idea about life is suffering and life is tragedy is surprisingly freeing."

My response: "Well yeah, supposed to be a Christian thing too...that idea has obviously been disassembled."

Post: #8

I hope Roosh won't mind me posting this here. I wasn't going to make this public. I was just going to send out PM's to a few of the members of this forum that have have privately messaged me, sending me condolences and well-wishes. I probably will send them out, in fact.

A few hours ago I got news that my Brother had died. Finally. After about 4 years of illness now, he has gone.

He actually died a couple of days ago, but my Mother did not tell me.

I have no words for this.

There was me still shitposting on this forum, trying to hold it together, trying to keep sane. And he was already dead.

I did feel him go. He died on the 14th, which was the day he was born on. I knew.

I tried to phone my 'mother' but she did not answer the phone. Apparently she had tried to call me several times.

To be gaslighted by my own flesh and blood 'mother' is something I won't go in to here.

He died peacefully in his sleep, so she says, but it's hard to take anything she says seriously because she just lies and lies. She has thrown my whole world upside down.

It was very hard seeing my brother with his basketball sized tumor on his back. Totally out of it and I mean totally out of it on Opiates and Benzos. Thank God for that.

Again, I hope I'm not speaking out of turn. I hope I'm not hi-jacking anyone else's grief here.

I did not feel welcome at the Hospice.

Also, my 'father' came out of the woodwork. I had called him previously for a truce. But it was no good. He did to me on the phone what he did to me as a child. "You are a no good son of a bitch and you will never amount to anything because you are a piece of fucking shit".

Ok then. It took a lot for me to 'make good' with him. To be the bigger man. But alas it was all in vain. I had to dig deep for it and got slapped in the face again. When I was a child, I worked out that by breaking down and crying he would let me go to bed. He would not let me go until I submitted. He broke me. But I overcame it. And here he was again, thinking he could play the same trick. When he realised he couldn't, he did the next best thing - withdrawing, discarding - I have to go now. Yeah...

I won't say that I am not in shock, because I am. I don't even know why I am posting this.

I feel calm. Most of my grieving has already been done. It's about picking up the pieces now.

I swear if Roosh had not made such a heartfelt post, I'd not be writing this now.

My Brother's funeral is in a few days. Already my 'mummy' told me that I need to get 'kitted out' with some nice new Black clothes to attend. I won't be going. They both brought him in to this world. They abused him and the broke him. And they can both be there together to take him back out.

My Brother will understand. We have a deep telepathic link. Even now. We speak in our dreams. We always did. We would phone each other the next day and say "Wow, that dream last night, did you get it?" - and sometimes we did and sometimes we didn't. It was the sort of deep bond that twins share.

I feel surprisingly calm, or I wouldn't be able to post this.

I just need to keep it together and not annoy my 'mother' too much so she gets violent. I must be careful of what I say. She is dead to me now. So is my Step-Father and so is my real 'Father'.

I just had my whole family wiped out. I'll never have a Christmas with any of them again. And I'm Ok with that. I think my 'mum' still thinks she can game me. But she decompensated so hard she showed her true colours. It's pretty fucked up. I had no idea. Not only does she not love me, she actively hates me and despises me as does my 'father' and my step-father. It's a lot to take in. I've lost my whole family in the last few hours, just as if they had been taken out by a car crash.

I hope I haven't over-stepped the mark in any way.

Roosh, I wish they would have allowed me to be there with my Brother when he was dying. I wish they would have told me when he did die. They have done everything to punish me and emotionally torture me at ever step of the way.

I wasn't allowed to get my tools in place, as you put it. Because that might have meant me taking a little control. They crippled me, took my legs from under me. But now it's over.

I just want to say I'm of sound mind, I'm fairly sober and with it. I also realise this is a very personal and emotive post. I'm Ok. I'd just like to let this stand in this little corner of the internet if I may? Catharsis? Yes. Sharing for others? I hope so...

Post: #9

I recently finished 'when breath becomes air'.

About a 36 year old neurosurgeon who gets diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer in his final year of training.

He previously considered being a writer. The diagnosis gave him an opportunity to write his first book on dealing with his diagnosis. Worth a read.

Post: #10

(04-16-2018 09:41 PM)Rigsby Wrote:  I just want to say I'm of sound mind, I'm fairly sober and with it. I also realise this is a very personal and emotive post. I'm Ok. I'd just like to let this stand in this little corner of the internet if I may? Catharsis? Yes. Sharing for others? I hope so...

Rigsby:

Sorry for your loss.

As someone who has dealt with a lot of personal loss - including seven years of palliative care - I've seen the dysfunction that arises when death isn't dealt with properly:

Go to your Brother's Funeral and say goodbye to him, particularly if there's an open casket and you can view his body. Otherwise, it risks being a lingering regret, and they have a nasty way of festering for years, and causing unpredictable and dysfunctional reactions.

I watched my Grandfather decide to never be happy again after my Grandmother died, and played out that role for all observers for 12 years after her death. My Aunt broke down and needed medicating due to a miscarriage forty years after the fact. My Stepfather was institutionalized just after New Year's Eve this year, eight years after my mothers death, since he stubbornly-refused to ever, ever address the issue. He has required a lot of care, which I've given him, even though my ability to forgive him was severely-tested by him after Christmas and took all of my resolve to continuing to care about him as a human being.

Somehow, human compassion won, and I still care.

Go to the Funeral. It doesn't have to be a grandiose statement, or a high family drama. Don't make it about your family's dysfunction. That continues to gives them power over you. Refuse to engage in their emotional games, and don't get swept up in punishing them or blaming them. Resist the tendency to make a scene with them, or become hyper-emotional. Forgive them, even if you have little to do with them going forward.

It's about your Brother, not them.
It's about your Brother, not you.

I'm not saying it'll be easy - it'll take active work, patience and injuries to your pride, but understand that I've also been in similar situations, for familial reasons that I won't dredge up. I've also observed forgiveness for far greater sins.

Be strong, and say goodbye. You won't be always wondering what his Funeral was like, and if you should have gone.

Post: #11

Similar to celebration in other Eastern cultures, the area close to where I was born in India, within the state of Tamil Nadu, people dance in the funeral procession as a sign of respect for the dead. I always found this endearing.

Post: #12

(04-17-2018 10:53 PM)Cobra Wrote:  Similar to celebration in other Eastern cultures, the area close to where I was born in India, within the state of Tamil Nadu, people dance in the funeral procession as a sign of respect for the dead. I always found this endearing.

If I may?

I searched long and hard last night for a rendition of the Amitabha Sutra.

I needed to be lulled to sleep. I didn't want sentimental bullshit. I wanted it hardcore. I found this:





I listened to it on my headphones for 8 hours solid while I slept the sleep of the righteous. I drifted in and out, but every time I woke, it took me deep back in. Perhaps others could find comfort in this too. I was pretty hard to reach. I needed something as terse as this.

I won't go in to the finer details of my relationship with all this stuff. Let's just say I'm not a Buddhist and leave it at that.



I would be remiss to say that before all this, I remembered words from the bible. The one I used to study at Sunday School, in a big Christian church. Where my grandmother is buried. Where her parents are buried. Where their parents are buried.

I feel a very deep connection to Christianity. To those that protect my forefathers.

This is it:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.


This is probably the greatest 'Sutra' that there is.

I know that Buddhism and Christianity are very different things.

These are probably the most powerful words I have ever heard.



I woke in the morning.
And had to face the day.


These words rang out in my head:

"though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me"


I must give thanks though to the Amitabha Sutra: "a recording made in the 1970's by the Buddhist Churches of America"

Amitoufo.

Post: #13

(04-17-2018 10:33 PM)AnonymousBosch Wrote:  

(04-16-2018 09:41 PM)Rigsby Wrote:  I just want to say I'm of sound mind, I'm fairly sober and with it. I also realise this is a very personal and emotive post. I'm Ok. I'd just like to let this stand in this little corner of the internet if I may? Catharsis? Yes. Sharing for others? I hope so...

Rigsby:

Sorry for your loss.

As someone who has dealt with a lot of personal loss - including seven years of palliative care - I've seen the dysfunction that arises when death isn't dealt with properly:

Go to your Brother's Funeral and say goodbye to him, particularly if there's an open casket and you can view his body. Otherwise, it risks being a lingering regret, and they have a nasty way of festering for years, and causing unpredictable and dysfunctional reactions.

I watched my Grandfather decide to never be happy again after my Grandmother died, and played out that role for all observers for 12 years after her death. My Aunt broke down and needed medicating due to a miscarriage forty years after the fact. My Stepfather was institutionalized just after New Year's Eve this year, eight years after my mothers death, since he stubbornly-refused to ever, ever address the issue. He has required a lot of care, which I've given him, even though my ability to forgive him was severely-tested by him after Christmas and took all of my resolve to continuing to care about him as a human being.

Somehow, human compassion won, and I still care.

Go to the Funeral. It doesn't have to be a grandiose statement, or a high family drama. Don't make it about your family's dysfunction. That continues to gives them power over you. Refuse to engage in their emotional games, and don't get swept up in punishing them or blaming them. Resist the tendency to make a scene with them, or become hyper-emotional. Forgive them, even if you have little to do with them going forward.

It's about your Brother, not them.
It's about your Brother, not you.

I'm not saying it'll be easy - it'll take active work, patience and injuries to your pride, but understand that I've also been in similar situations, for familial reasons that I won't dredge up. I've also observed forgiveness for far greater sins.

Be strong, and say goodbye. You won't be always wondering what his Funeral was like, and if you should have gone.

Thank you for your well wishes AB.

And thank you for your thoughts on the subject.


You know, my mind was pretty well made up not to go to the funeral. I wanted to be there when he died, but I got pushed out. So what of him being put in to the ground?

But after reading your very considered and enlightening post, I think I will now seriously consider going.

You are right. It will be uncomfortable.

After finding out what my mother was after all these years, and boiling with anger at her, not to mention my father's petty spirit and vindictiveness, it will be a challenge.

I have a file from my bro's computer called 'funeral wishes' - I only got it when I backed up his laptop. I still haven't read it. It seems private. Maybe I won't ever read it. It wasn't meant for me.

I hear what you are saying about the years of hurt down the road.

I'm still a bit in shock at not being told when he died. He'd been dead three fucking days and I was shitposting all over the internet as a means for coping with being in limbo.

Today, I shed some tears. I always thought I would break down when I finally found out. But there has been so much grieving going on before the event. I've never felt so calm.

After 7 years of palliative care, you will know what I mean about grieving before hand, I imagine.

There is so much more to say. So much more that could be said.

I very nearly didn't check back in this thread because I get burned out with sharing so much. That isn't a reflection on anyone else.

Again, Roosh making this thread - he's tapped in to something. I swear I just wanted to keep this one quiet. I'm glad he did. I'm glad you shared so much as well AB.


I think I need to do this. You are right.

Whatever small discomfort might come from the awkward family connections, it will pale in to insignificance with regard to the reflections that will come in the years ahead.


This isn't just a case of 'manning up', it's a case of digging deeper, deeper than I've ever gone before. But that is what is called for.

Thank you AB.

Post: #14

This is probably the greatest Sutra of all. Written by T.S. Elliot.

The Four Quartets.

http://www.coldbacon.com/poems/fq.html


I'll just reproduce 'East Coker' here:

East Coker

I

In my beginning is my end. In succession
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
Which is already flesh, fur and faeces,
Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.
Houses live and die: there is a time for building
And a time for living and for generation
And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane
And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots
And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
Across the open field,, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the elctric heat
Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
Wait for the early owl.

In that open field
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
the association of man and woman
In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie˜
A dignified and commodious sacrament.
Two and two, necessarye coniunction,
Holding eche other by the hand or the arm
Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire
Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
Mirth of those long since under earth
Nourishing the corn. Keeping time,
Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
As in their living in the living seasons
The time of the seasons and the constellations
The time of milking and the time of harvest
The time of the coupling of man and woman
And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling.
Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.

II

What is the late November doing
With the disturbance of the spring
And creatures of the summer heat,
And snowdrops writhing under feet
And hollyhocks that aim too high
Red into grey and tumble down
Late roses filled with early snow?
Thunder rolled by the rolling stars
Simulates triumphal cars
Deployed in constellated wars
Scorpion fights against the Sun
Until the Sun and Moon go down
Comets weep and Leonids fly
Hunt the heavens and the plains
Whirled in a vortex that shall bring
The world to that destructive fire
Which burns before the ice-cap reigns.

That was a way of putting it - not very satisfactory:
A periphrastic study in a worn-out poetical fashion,
Leaving one still with the intolerable wrestle
With words and meanings. The poetry does not matter.
It was not (to start again) what one had expected.
What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,
Long hoped for calm, the autumnal serenity
And the wisdom of age? Had they deceived us,
Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders,
Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit?
The serenity only a deliberate hebetude,
The wisdom only the knowledge of dead secrets
Useless in the darkness into which they peered
Or from which they turned their eyes. There is, it seems to us,
At best, only a limited value
In the knowledge derived from experience.
The knowledge inposes a pattern, and falsifies,
For the pattern is new in every moment
And every moment is a new and shocking
Valuation of all we have been. We are only undeceived
Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm.
In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
but all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear
Of the wisdom of old men, but rahter of their folly,
Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,
Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God.
The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

The houses are all gone under the sea.

The dancers are all gone under the hill.

III

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away-
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing-
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstacy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

IV

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That quesions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind us of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
Wherein, if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

V

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years-
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres-
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholy new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate - but there is no competition -
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.


Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.


I don't live too far from East Coker. It's a really wonderful little church.

There is a book there for people to recite this in the church. It sounds amazing. The reverberation.

Misty mornings spent in a church all alone. Quiet. Peaceful. Trusting.

Thankfully we don't have to worry about Vikings or invaders ever coming in to squash that peace. We sleep quiet in our beds at night.

In my end is my beginning...

Post: #15

(04-17-2018 11:36 PM)Rigsby Wrote:  Today, I shed some tears. I always thought I would break down when I finally found out. But there has been so much grieving going on before the event. I've never felt so calm.

Quote:After 7 years of palliative care, you will know what I mean about grieving before hand, I imagine.

All pain is pain. 4 years, 7 years, doesn't matter.

Sudden death is different to an expected, inevitable death. In a - somewhat bitter - way, we are given the chance to process grief and mourn before the event.

With my mother, it was one, long protracted fight, until, eventually, all options had been exhausted, and all hope was gone. And still she lingered with that knowledge for months, giving us time to talk and process.

I know this will trigger Forney - but I read Cormac McCarthy's 'The Road' whilst she slept, and why most would see it as your standard post-apocalyptic novel, it deeply-resonated with me. It was simply about walking aside someone in a hopeless situation to their inevitable death, in a way, propping them up to get them to where they need to go, knowing you'd then have to walk on alone. (Ignore the terrible movie version).

Another obvious comparison is the biblical story of Simon of Cyrene carrying the cross for Jesus.

As such, I asked many of the usual-post grief questions and went through different stages of mourning before the event. My Mother and I faced a lot of it with grim gallows humour, but deeper questions were asked, and there was much time for reflection on these questions.

You've probably been through that stage.

Her death was a release for both of us. It simply became quiet acceptance, and her last words for me were those of comfort: "It's all right, Sausage", (what she used to call me when I a very young baby).

I smiled, and said "I Know."

She wasn't able to speak after that, and held on for a few more days. Even so, I continued talking to her. I later paraphrased everything I said to her during that time into a song - probably the best song I'll ever write. Hell of a way to earn it.

I was still with her as the tumour on the top of her spine finally grew large enough to stop her breathing response. Just the slightest sigh, and she was gone.

And now, having seen her to her destination, I had to walk back alone.

This is why I want you to seek moments of closure. There's much more to come, and you still need to work through what arises.

Off-hand - and I wrote many songs to process each stage that I hadn't yet been through - I can suggest more emotions you might have to address. Although none of it was as bad as the pre-death experiences - I remember Survivor's Guilt; a sense of dislocation from the world - to a very real degree I've never fully re-entered it, even though I exist (and give the outward appearance of success) in it, I can be very hard for people to pin down - even though my attitude is Girl Crack; the sense that few people were capable of understanding such an experience until they live it; understanding that with our ability to love comes inevitable pain, and we have to be strong enough to love regardless; the cruel and endless erosion of a person from your memory; and the need to continually-strengthen yourself to be able to carry the burden of loss.

But with that, came gifts as well: an understanding of death's part in the cycle, which means each new death is quietly-accepted; deep, deep resilience in a crisis; others being able to lean on me during their grief because I understand it's an honour to be their strength; always remembering those I've lost with great joy, as their flaws are all forgivable; greatly-increased empathy; being vigilant in caring for those in my circle whilst they're alive; and understanding that I've been blessed to have known those people who have passed, for each life is complex and unique.

Even the sense of dislocation: I'll write this up properly in the Bible thread, but I now see this as a reward from God for the act of penance and personal sacrifice by carrying my mother's cross: I'm no longer of the world. Everything of true value in my life - not what I always thought I valued - started blossoming from there.

My advice is not to hide yourself from these emotions, or distract yourself, or try to numb yourself to them, which will only produce dysfunction. Put them into your art. Figure out exactly what you have learnt. It's therapy.

Properly-dealt with, this can change you for the better.

I found some scratch lyrics the other day that I ended up not using for a backing track, as I couldn't quite find a powerful enough metaphor and ended up writing an entirely-new lyric, before replacing the track with a newly-written song anyway.

But I smiled a tiny smile noticing the final lines - I had so few syllables to work an idea into - for there was the deeper truth of hard experience:

The knitted night unraveling
A veil withdrawn from your eyes
The dark road you were travelling
Lead to sunrise

According to the dates in my workbook, my oldest friend died three days after I wrote those lines.

Quote:This isn't just a case of 'manning up', it's a case of digging deeper, deeper than I've ever gone before. But that is what is called for.

This is how you'll strengthen yourself, and find your shoulders grow strong enough to carry the painful burden of loss without it making you fall to your knees. Instead, there's just a deep sense of bittersweet memory - love and pain intertwined, but love now dominates.

In the case of my friend above, I had no regrets, because I'd been actively helping him, to the extent that he said this to me during our last conversation before he died:

"You've been really looking out for us [him and his brother], Bosch. I just want to say Thank You."

"No thanks needed," I said.

This was so hugely out of character for him that all the people who knew him that I've told this to, seem disbelieving and probably thought I was making it up to be nice.

But it happened.

And knowing that was our last exchange - not some fight over trivialities, or bearing unnecessary grudges, or even being distracted with selfish wants - means I have no regrets. His time ended, and I didn't fail in my duty of care to him while he was alive.

I've buried many more people since him.

Good luck, Rigsby. Remember, escalation of the situation would be your choice, no matter how obnoxious or cruel your family might be to you. Perhaps thinking of it as a type of penance might help you bear it with stoicism.

Post: #16

It's strange how mourning is so different depending on the religion/culture and mindset.

The Tibetan Buddhists are even willing to see the bodies of their loved ones being eaten by animals, because they believe that soul has already left and the empty shell is not important.

Recently my dad died unexpectedly. He was past 80 since he got me pretty late. It was still painful as I could not even say good-bye to him. He was in quite a lot of pain in recent times, but it was still quite a hit to me emotionally.

What irks me more about this is that I have a badly trained ability to leave my body at will, but haven't trained it better.

What would mourning look like if you could project instantly to your loved one and talk with them on the other planes? Would people mourn as much? I think that most would come to terms fast with death as they could see that everything is fine with the other person. The loved one is not here and you miss that person, but everything is as it should be.

With many deaths in our life especially when illnesses like cancer are concerned I am sometimes angry at our system, because I know that far more effective treatments or perfect healings could be made available (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTlgCLkF-jc Rife machine one of those procedures). I also blame the industry for stuffing old folk with unnecessary pills until their immune system and kidneys collapse, while a simple diet change and supplements would have done a much better job.

We just have to come to terms that there are things that we can change and things that we cannot change. My mother started to read more about those things than myself and changed her entire lifestyle. She will be spared some of the old-people degenerative diseases and so will some of my best friends. That is what I was able to change.

---

Sometimes I meditate a lot. With my dad it seems that something happened after I fell asleep in contemplation. I woke up and the pain was mostly gone. I was still sad, but somehow I knew that everything is alright. We will meet again anyway and the love that we have is eternal anyway.

Post: #17

Rigsby: my condolences.

Post: #18

I only gathered enough strength to come back to this thread today. It's fleeting in and out with me. In fact, only a few hours ago did it really hit. It took that long.

Thank you again AB, your words are duly noted, to be acted upon in a positive fashion. I shall come back to this thread to fully digest your words of wisdom and experience.

Thanks Zel, as always you provide a unique and informed insight. I'm sorry about your Father.

And thank you Roosh. Much appreciated.

Post: #19

Your various losses - including Fortis' recent, unspoken one - have all been added to my Rosary.

Post: #20

"The value of life is revealed when it confronts death from close quarters"

My condolences to both Roosh and Rigsby. Found out recently to that an old classmate of my took his own life. I honestly don't know how to react as I am still in shock.

Post: #21

(04-20-2018 05:16 PM)Rigsby Wrote:  I only gathered enough strength to come back to this thread today. It's fleeting in and out with me. In fact, only a few hours ago did it really hit. It took that long.

Thank you again AB, your words are duly noted, to be acted upon in a positive fashion. I shall come back to this thread to fully digest your words of wisdom and experience.

Thanks Zel, as always you provide a unique and informed insight. I'm sorry about your Father.

And thank you Roosh. Much appreciated.

Sorry for your brother. Another useless cancer death. They estimate that 60% of the current Western people will die of cancer and this is not due to old age, since the Westerners stopped getting older in the 1990s. Old American doctors in the 1950s had to fly to a different state to find one child with cancer - it was that rare - now they are everywhere.

It's even more sad to hear about your pathological family. I have been blessed with mostly loving intelligent family members, but I have little qualm to cut off contact when the relationship is too toxic. Time and experience however will make things better - though we are talking about cosmic scale here - not necessarily this lifetime.

Post: #22

Rigsby, our brother, I hope you made the decision to attend the funeral if possible.

AB, thanks for your input in these situations, I wish I had known the forum for the losses that affected me greatly and I dealt with on my own.

I will only add, the loss of your life’s most influential man (or potentially woman for some), as perceived in that moment, is devestating to a young man. Must be willing to show some vulnerability to let it pass.

Post: #23

(04-23-2018 12:18 AM)Gustavus Adolphus Wrote:  Rigsby, our brother, I hope you made the decision to attend the funeral if possible.

AB, thanks for your input in these situations, I wish I had known the forum for the losses that affected me greatly and I dealt with on my own.

I will only add, the loss of your life’s most influential man (or potentially woman for some), as perceived in that moment, is devestating to a young man. Must be willing to show some vulnerability to let it pass.

Unfortunately I was not able to attend.

There were several reasons for this, but the most dominant one was ill health on my part.

It was just as well anyway.

I have still not begun to grieve. Perhaps a tear here or there. But not the deep mourning that I know has to come.

Sorry, I'm not a grief-whore. I've seen people who are. They use the excuse of the death of others to gain attention, to get away with things. I just want to be left in a quiet place. Soon.

The reason for this is my very own Mother's narcissistic games. You have to understand my blood father is a narc as well. As well as my step-father. Even my brother was too at his end.

I spoke to my Mother today. She has pretty much cleared out my bro's flat. I knew she would. I know how this goes.

I knew she would do everything in her power to keep me from picking up the last of his stuff.

She gave away half of his stuff to charity, the other half she put up at auction. Apparently, this has taken a terrible toll on her. You have no idea. Never off the phone.

It's so bad in fact that they are going on fucking holiday (I predicted this) until the end of the month. They will be around again in about three weeks.

I knew this would happen. I get it. It hurts. She know it hurts. I'm programmed. It hurts very much. I'll take the pain. It will pass.

But there was a quite unexpected twist on top. I made the mistake of telling her that there was a file on my bro's computer called 'Funeral Wishes'. She went in to a serious funk and meltdown.

It went a little something like this:

"Er, well, he never talked to me. You know. He never talked to you. He never talked at all. Still, I might have got it wrong. God I hope I didn't get it wrong. We shall see if I got it wrong. I never meant to get it wrong. I can't be blamed if I got it wrong. Jesus, I never knew about that. Really. I did the best I could..."

Pretty weird shit right?

Eh eh.

Funny thing is, it's all on my bro's computer that I bought for him (laptop). But the best part is knowing it is all on a USB stick that I used to download the entire contents. It was private so I never read it. She was shitting herself. I've never heard such panic in her voice. She wasn't expecting that.

But it turns out that she has given away all my brother's furniture to charity, also his TV, LCD screens, Playstation 4.

"Well, I never heard from you, I didn't know what to do when you just disappeared like that. We are both very ill. We go on holiday for a fortnight soon".

eh eh.

My mother is a sick cunt. My step father is too. And so is my biological father. And so was my brother at the end. Wrapped around their little finger.

I tapped in to to some real shit with that 'funeral wishes' file on his computer. Even if they try to change it or delete it, they know I have a hard copy on USB. They are fucking busted. I wonder what it will say.

I can't read it for the moment because the stick is in my bag that she stole off me so I would have to go back to their place later on. Including my toothbrush. Documents. One minute they are practically blackmailing me to go to their place, the next they are telling me how unreasonable I am for thinking they don't need a fucking fortnight's holiday.

I'll get it soon. They don't know it is there. Soon...

My brother has just died. I was not told about it for 3 days. I could have attended and been by his bedside, but my father would have just caused a fuss. I would have happily gone in to battle. But it wasn't what my brother needed on his deathbed with a fucking tumor the size of a football on his back. My mother as well who attacked me, burst in to tears the last time we were all in a room together. He looked at me with vengeance: what did you do to our mother, you brute?

It's all par for the course. Narcs.

Like with my mate Sol who I talked about in another thread. The material manifestations of what they leave behind. Studio equipment. Sofas worth a thousand bucks given away to 'charity'. It's all good.

They see the material worth. But we see the emotional connection. They see our loss on our faces. Thinking they know what it is. They do not understand.

I get no part in my brother's death. I've been air-brushed out of the equation.

And I don't know the exact shenanigans that went on, but my bio-father, my step-father and my mother will have been bad-mouthing me like a motherfucker. Such is the position of the black sheep, the scapegoat, the Identified Patient.

My shoulders are broad enough.

I know what I have to do now when they have finished having their fun with me. It will be a dish served cold. I will take no joy in it. You do not lie down with rabid dogs.

I'll go to his grave. Make my peace.

The truth is this:

My father always hated me on a very deep level. Enough to kill me.

My Step father always hated me as well. Not enough to kill me, but would be happy to see me killed.

And my very own mother, who I realise now never bonded with me as a baby, or a child, or a son, grew to have a visceral hatred for me as her Golden Child was taken by Cancer.

It was me she wanted to see in his place.

She will never forgive me or God for him taking him and not me.

I will only pay the rest of my life for this fault on God's part.

Even though she does not believe in God.

Wew lad. Time to take a breath ah?


It's ok.

Worse things happen at sea.

People in this life face far greater hardships than what I do now.

My brother is dead. He's not coming back. It was a fucking horrible death.

I did the best I could.

I'll go to his resting place and make it good.

And I'll minister to the sick and the needy in this life. Those that don't expect it. I don't want their gratitude. And I'll do this with no denomination. No religion. No expectation of higher reward. Because virtue is its own reward.

I hope I'll be able to find peace in that place. We shall see.