Charlie McKean died this morning after a prolonged illness.
He was in his nineties, surrounded by his family, his friends, all knowing the end was coming. He was as prepared as an ex-Marine, an ex-Mayor of Gardner, a relative-by-marriage, and my father's best friend, could be. (We all got our Christmas cards, sent by his wife, Theresa, even as he was in the hospital this last time around. God bless you, Theresa. God be ready for you, Charlie.)
I have been pondering "death" a lot, since coming back from California. I saw it up front, more often than I care to remember, when I was living there. I was always working with a "high risk" population--a younger crowd whose untimely passings were often wrought with violence, horror and much tragedy. And then, there was the entire AIDS tsunami, beginning to hit shore even as I stepped off the plane at LAX, in September of 1978. (Not that I hadn't grown up with death...we had a huge web of great aunts, uncles, grandparents and step grandparents. Many cousins and regular uncles and aunties also died, in my childhood. Irish wakes and funerals were something I was born into and dreaded.) To know that the three hundred teens I worked with, as a street counselor, in Hollywood, have all passed, has haunted me, to this day. Yes, I have walked in the shadow of the Reaper.
Now, living with it in this house, watching my parents' friends and the parents OF my friends die, knowing the inevitable way I, too, will leave 88 Maple Street, has caused me to become more committed to studying a Buddhist approach to death. (My Catholic prayers hold some comfort and connection, but the Church, itself, has passed by.) So, what do I read, meditate upon, consider and write about, this afternoon, upon hearing of Mr. McKean's passage?
Let me quote one of my Teachers, Pema Chodron, in her work, WHEN THINGS FALL APART: "When we talk about hopelessness and death, we're talking about facing the facts. No escapism. We may still have addictions of all kinds, but we cease to believe in them as gateways to happiness. So many times we've indulged the short-term pleasure of addiction. We've done it so many times that we know grasping at this hope is a source of misery that makes short-term pleasure a long-term hell.
"Giving up hope is encouragement to stick with yourself, to make friends with yourself, to return to the bare bones, no matter what's going on. Fear of death is the background of the whole thing. It's why we feel restless, why we panic, why there's anxiety. But if we totally experience hopelessness, giving up all hope of alternatives to the present moment, we can have a joyful relationship with our lives, an honest, direct relationship, one that no longer ignores the reality of impermanence and death."
(Chodron, 1997)
Impermanence.
That's so hard for me--for us all. Belief in hopelessness--not depression about, but BELIEF in it--that there is nothing "better" to hope for; to be present, fully, in the reality around us--remembering to always strive to do and be our kindest, most compassionate, awake-self while doing so--and to experience exactly what is happening. All the terror; the pain; the tragedy--to breathe it in and to send out compassion and mindfulness into the maelstrom. To accept that this, too, shall pass.(Every wise book re-iterates this message, have you noticed?)
Buddhist teaching isn't about "non-theism" vs "theism". Even Chodron writes that the difference between theism and non-theism is not about whether one believes in God. It is about believing that there is some great Babysitter that will see us and appreciate us if we just do the right things, say the right things, and give up our responsibilities to something outside ourselves. Non-theism, she tells us, is about "relaxing with the ambiguity and uncertainty of the present moment without reaching for anything to protect us".
( I guess she means reaching for something/someone to protect us from the fear, the loss, the emotional pain of the death of the loved one.) I guess she means to sit tight; don't push it away; open to it; breathe it in; feel it; examine it; breathe out compassion to those left behind--including ourselves...not so easy.
Learning that I could still respect "God" and relax with my gut-feeling that there is A Universal Creator, while also following a philosophy that points to taking responsibility for my own actions, minute by minute, (and then, conversely, makes me aware that I cannot hold on to the results of those actions), has blown me away, several times. It has also made me aware that I have no excuses; continuing this practice, this study, this life, is absolutely something I have to do. I must act from mindfulness in every moment; act from compassion and kindness in every situation; but also, not beat myself up if I fail.
Acknowledge. Confess. Refrain. Let go. Breathe. Always.
In this light, I send my prayers, energy and love to Mr. McKean's family and friends. I feel their loss and their sorrow.(I see it in the eyes of my parents--especially my Dad.) I know this is a marker for both of my parents in their own struggle with impermanence. This affects my entire familia in so many ways.
You were a good man, a welcoming neighbor, a great friend, Charlie. Find your way to the Light and Peace.
(May I be as brave.)
Namaste.
He was in his nineties, surrounded by his family, his friends, all knowing the end was coming. He was as prepared as an ex-Marine, an ex-Mayor of Gardner, a relative-by-marriage, and my father's best friend, could be. (We all got our Christmas cards, sent by his wife, Theresa, even as he was in the hospital this last time around. God bless you, Theresa. God be ready for you, Charlie.)
I have been pondering "death" a lot, since coming back from California. I saw it up front, more often than I care to remember, when I was living there. I was always working with a "high risk" population--a younger crowd whose untimely passings were often wrought with violence, horror and much tragedy. And then, there was the entire AIDS tsunami, beginning to hit shore even as I stepped off the plane at LAX, in September of 1978. (Not that I hadn't grown up with death...we had a huge web of great aunts, uncles, grandparents and step grandparents. Many cousins and regular uncles and aunties also died, in my childhood. Irish wakes and funerals were something I was born into and dreaded.) To know that the three hundred teens I worked with, as a street counselor, in Hollywood, have all passed, has haunted me, to this day. Yes, I have walked in the shadow of the Reaper.
Now, living with it in this house, watching my parents' friends and the parents OF my friends die, knowing the inevitable way I, too, will leave 88 Maple Street, has caused me to become more committed to studying a Buddhist approach to death. (My Catholic prayers hold some comfort and connection, but the Church, itself, has passed by.) So, what do I read, meditate upon, consider and write about, this afternoon, upon hearing of Mr. McKean's passage?
Let me quote one of my Teachers, Pema Chodron, in her work, WHEN THINGS FALL APART: "When we talk about hopelessness and death, we're talking about facing the facts. No escapism. We may still have addictions of all kinds, but we cease to believe in them as gateways to happiness. So many times we've indulged the short-term pleasure of addiction. We've done it so many times that we know grasping at this hope is a source of misery that makes short-term pleasure a long-term hell.
"Giving up hope is encouragement to stick with yourself, to make friends with yourself, to return to the bare bones, no matter what's going on. Fear of death is the background of the whole thing. It's why we feel restless, why we panic, why there's anxiety. But if we totally experience hopelessness, giving up all hope of alternatives to the present moment, we can have a joyful relationship with our lives, an honest, direct relationship, one that no longer ignores the reality of impermanence and death."
(Chodron, 1997)
Impermanence.
That's so hard for me--for us all. Belief in hopelessness--not depression about, but BELIEF in it--that there is nothing "better" to hope for; to be present, fully, in the reality around us--remembering to always strive to do and be our kindest, most compassionate, awake-self while doing so--and to experience exactly what is happening. All the terror; the pain; the tragedy--to breathe it in and to send out compassion and mindfulness into the maelstrom. To accept that this, too, shall pass.(Every wise book re-iterates this message, have you noticed?)
Buddhist teaching isn't about "non-theism" vs "theism". Even Chodron writes that the difference between theism and non-theism is not about whether one believes in God. It is about believing that there is some great Babysitter that will see us and appreciate us if we just do the right things, say the right things, and give up our responsibilities to something outside ourselves. Non-theism, she tells us, is about "relaxing with the ambiguity and uncertainty of the present moment without reaching for anything to protect us".
( I guess she means reaching for something/someone to protect us from the fear, the loss, the emotional pain of the death of the loved one.) I guess she means to sit tight; don't push it away; open to it; breathe it in; feel it; examine it; breathe out compassion to those left behind--including ourselves...not so easy.
Learning that I could still respect "God" and relax with my gut-feeling that there is A Universal Creator, while also following a philosophy that points to taking responsibility for my own actions, minute by minute, (and then, conversely, makes me aware that I cannot hold on to the results of those actions), has blown me away, several times. It has also made me aware that I have no excuses; continuing this practice, this study, this life, is absolutely something I have to do. I must act from mindfulness in every moment; act from compassion and kindness in every situation; but also, not beat myself up if I fail.
Acknowledge. Confess. Refrain. Let go. Breathe. Always.
In this light, I send my prayers, energy and love to Mr. McKean's family and friends. I feel their loss and their sorrow.(I see it in the eyes of my parents--especially my Dad.) I know this is a marker for both of my parents in their own struggle with impermanence. This affects my entire familia in so many ways.
You were a good man, a welcoming neighbor, a great friend, Charlie. Find your way to the Light and Peace.
(May I be as brave.)
Namaste.
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