Shakespeare described the human form as a “mortal coil” that we shuffle off in death. For Hamlet, life is a dreary work that holds neither mirth nor meaning. To slip the mortal coil is to find release from the sorrows that batter us. Yet, there may be another view of mortality that belies Hamlet’s bleak assessment.
In a death-phobic culture, mortality is the antithesis of life, the ultimate obliteration. Death is villainy in absolute form, a symbol of everything nefarious and maleficent. Around Halloween, macabre impersonations of death reinforce our primal fears of mortality. However, frightful depictions of death are the proclivities of certain cultures. There are other cultures in which death is not frightful, but rather comic and inviting.
Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a time of remembrance and celebration in Mexico. I witnessed the event while living in Oaxaca many years ago. The whole city revelled in music, lights and festivities. The streets festooned in flowers and candles, parades of skeletal figures invigorated the town square. There was an air of sacred remembrance, as people commemorate their loved ones. At the same time, there was also a playfulness to the festivities. Dia de los Muertos instantiates a culture’s sublimation of mortality, reaching beyond oblivion to render death amicable.
The festivities of Dia de los Muertos throw into relief the gritty reality of our inevitable decline. The years bring more news of ailment and disease. A cousin suffers a stroke. An aunt undergoes treatment for cancer. Older relatives lapse into dementia. Their plight reveals what is in store for all of us. Old age, sickness, and death is our fate as human beings. Those who reckon with this eventuality are neither morose nor pessimistic; they are the sober ones who gaze unflinchingly into the inevitable. Anxiety in the face of death activates a host of coping responses: distraction, pursuit of pleasure, ambition, workaholism, self-medication, and retail-therapy. Some people seek immortality projects in an effort to transcend death: wealth, conquest, fame. In the wake of their fearful labour lie seas of hurt and brokenness.
Old age, sickness and death tend to stoke our deepest fears. However, we need not confine ourselves to maladaptive devices in the face of death. Death is not eventual; it is active and present in this very moment. That our days are finite is certain; where we are in the span of time matters little. If our days our finite, each day is scarce and precious. The impermanence of every moment is death’s hand ushering us toward fate. We are dying here and now, and this makes us the fortunate ones. Rather than drift aimlessly through life, only to be caught by the grip of sickness and death, we can develop a spacious attitude toward death, right here and now. Like Dia de Los Muertos, we can face death with a measure of friendliness and humour. Despite the dictates of a death-phobic culture, we can learn to love our mortality.
I remember reading Homer’s “The Odyssey” many years ago, fascinated by the story of Calpyso and Odysseus. Calypso was an immortal sea-nymph who fell in love with Odysseus, a mortal. She offered him immortality so he might accompany her through eternity. However, Odysseus refused, preferring to return home to his wife. Calypso would keep Odysseus enthralled in her cave for seven years before the gods intervened and sent Odysseus homebound. Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his book “Why bad things happen to good people,” asks an intriguing question: Why would an immortal goddess fall in love with a mere mortal? In response, Kushner posits that Calypso did not fall in love with Odysseus despite his mortality; she fell in love because of it. As an immortal, her actions have no consequence. Her days hold no gravity. A millennium is as paltry as an hour. Odysseus, on the other hand, will measure his days with his actions. That Odysseus is mortal bestows him with immeasurable dignity and significance. We can imagine Calypso gazing upon Odysseus, admiring the splendour of his agency.
Death renders life consequential. It is because we will die that our days are precious and worthwhile. Glimpses of death–when we are ill or when we notice our sagging skin in the mirror–are messages across eternity. They fasten our resolve and awaken us to the vitality of this moment. If we kick and resist our fate, we blind ourselves to the potency of this moment. If we relent and embrace this fate, we enter into the gravity of our existence. Practically, this means recognizing our fear, learning to soften and smile in the face of our mortality. Name the struggle and its associated valences, soften our bodies as the psychic resonance drifts through body and consciousness. We remember that because our days are numbered, how we live matters. This becomes an invitation to make the most of every moment – not always to produce or accomplish anything grand, but to muster the presence that is worthy of this life. By welcoming, softening, and embracing death, we enter into a different relationship with our mortality. Without notice, death no longer holds us in its terrifying grip. We move and live with it, as if silent partners in an exquisite dance.
If we can learn to befriend our decline in the present moment, we open ourselves to death. In turn, death becomes something more amicable. Annie Dilliard once wrote: “How we live our days is how we live our lives.” Carve more space for mortality today, enjoy more spaciousness when death arrives tomorrow. In the movement of this practice, we actualize the enduring wisdom of the ages: learning how to die is learning how to live.