Because I Could Not Stop For Death...

I've got my brain humming on two things: Taoism and Beauty Cream.

There's a lot of talk going around about using science to ratchet up our lifespans. A friend of mine described how he hopes one day that doctors will become mechanics - they'll give people tune-ups, make sure the oil is changed, and basically halt or slow the aging process so that "natural death" becomes a thing of the past.

Yes, I think that's a little extreme too. It also might not be true, but if the science isn't actually there, the desire for the science is, and that desire says something about our relationship to going gentle into that good night.

There're plenty of questions that surround this issue, which I'll probably go into later. Is this service a necessity, or a luxury? Where does the money for it come from? Who gets to have it? I hate to sound cynical but I don't think this treatment would end up in philanthropic hands - it would end up being given to the people who could pay for it, and I hear immortality is in high demand. Look at cosmetic surgery, or, as I mentioned, beauty creams. All of these are material ways of trying to deal with death - "if I don't look like I'm closer to the grave, my life will be better. Or, at least, I won't have to think about it for a while."

I'd argue that immortality doesn't look like that. And this is where Taoism comes in.

The little that I know about Taoism comes from The Sacred Art of Dying by Kenneth Paul Kramer. It surveys how a handful major religious and philosophical traditions approach the subject of Death, and includes journaling exercises at the end of each chapter that are actually productive, and not just a thin layer of New Age icing. One of these journal entries was "Redescribe the Taoist process of reversal. In what way does this spiritual path relate to the Taoist attitude towards death?"

Here's what I came up with, after reading the chapter:

"So let's assume that there are two energies to existence, that, together, create a single motion - like the tides, the seasons, or the way that there is day and night, but you can still see the moon during the day, and the moon still reflects the sun's light at night. Together these forces form a whole process, but singularly, they are out of balance. The process of Reversal assumes that one of these forces is connected to Life, and the other to Death, and that, while living, we spend most of our time unbalanced towards Life energy, especially when we crave living above all else. By reversing this natural obsession with Life, through meditation, the fine arts, and practicing dying while alive, we rebalance ourselves and, as a consequence, discover wisdom, simplicity, and a long and productive life."

This is, at least, my understanding of it. Specifically, Taoists use practices like T'ai Chi and Ch'i Kung to balance their own Yin and Yang energies, though Kramer does point out that "fine arts" and "martial arts" are on the list of ways too. I'd definitely make an argument for Theater as a way to rebalance yourself, being a dramatist.

Or, to break with the topic of Taoism for a moment, there's a story of a Tibetan Buddhist monk who was pulled aside on his way to get his groceries to minister to a dying nun. He kneels down and tells her:

"I think it is time for you to go. Now you have got to see whatever your teachers have taught you to see. This is the time to put your visualizations into practice. Whichever form of the Buddha you can best relate to, unite your mind with that Buddha, and don't think about us here behind. We'll be okay. I'm going shopping now. When I come back, perhaps I won't see you, so goodbye."

(This can be found in The Sacred Art of Dying, pg. 70)

That, it seems to me, is ageless. That, it seems to me, is more important than the physical living and dying that produced it. The experience of dying is a part of our life, and our experiences of life will be a part of our deaths. By reversing our obsession with being young as long as possible, we open ourselves to a wealth of simple, wise ways of understanding, and making peace with, our eventual end. I would hate to see my life prolonged almost indefinitely if all I did was worry about prolonging my life even more indefinitely. I'd rather be told, "don't think about us here behind. We'll be okay."

Of course, the distinction I'm drawing between beauty creams and meditation is suspect, and that monk I so admire would be sure to admonish me that both will come to naught in the end.

"Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me..."