My ZANSHIN philosophy column ran continuously from 1990 to 2010 in the World Oriental Martial Arts Newsletter, and later, on the WOMAF website. Then my teacher, Grandmaster James R. Garrison, began his own blog, which I believe are wonderful, and I did not want to compete with him. This particular column was written in 2010, just after my mom passed away. It is part catharsis, part eulogy, and part philosophic musing, but I think it still works okay.
Z A N S H I
N
by Dick Morgan
On Death, and the Quest for Serenity
My
mother passed away on June 22, after a brief but intense fight with multi-system
cancer. By the time she was told she
officially had the big C, it was everywhere.
But she was 91 years old, a staunch Christian; she took the whole
struggle in stride, showing great courage, unflappable faith, and love for
everyone and everything around her right up to the end.
On
the morning of her last day, she telephoned her grand-daughter and told her
that she was eating a doughnut and drinking coffee, and enjoying it very much,
even though neither was on her diet plan.
She was seen by a hospice nurse afterwards, and complained of an
increase in the severity of her pain.
She was given an increased amount of all her medications, and then she
just went to sleep and passed away.
Among Cancer deaths, it was as graceful an exit as I have ever heard
about.
She
led a life of strong spirit and amazing generosity. She shopped at thrift stores for her own
clothes so that she could give more of her monthly retirement funds to her
chosen charities, mostly missionaries serving in third world countries. While cleaning out her meager belongings,
several dozen cards and letters were found from missionaries from such places
as Rwanda, Kenya, Zimbabwe, The Philippines, Mongolia, and Thailand. All were handwritten and recent, thanking her
for her years of support.
Hundreds
of people came to her memorial, even though because of some glitch, her
obituary never got printed in the newspaper.
My mother’s own network of Christian fellowship had spread the word, and
people came from several states.
She
was a Christian army of one, and wore her faith like a low-slung pistol, but
with charity in her heart and the love of Jesus in her soul. Her entire life gradually evolved into one
long prayer, and I’m certain I was on a long list of people and causes that
warranted regular discussion with God. I
grew confident that were evil to befall me, I could have Mom activate her
prayer network, and the Universe would be patched up like an old tire. I’ll miss that metaphysical safety net.
Yet
there is no sadness, for parents are supposed to die before their
children. That is the natural way of
things. I am celebrating my mother’s
life, as a triumph, now complete. She
lived as though at every moment, her life was complete just as it was, and each
moment was one more encore to an already successful symphony.
What if in
our final moment, our whole life runs together, occurring simultaneously, and
ultimately becomes a single resonant note in the Music of the Spheres? My mom’s life was the epitome of harmony,
perhaps because of her simple, fundamental Christian faith. I can’t help but wonder if my life, as a
single final note, will be as melodious.
My own beliefs are comprised of the myriad of experiences in my own
life, and consist of bits of Zen, Buddhism, Taoism, Quantum Physics, and yes,
some Christianity, all swirled together into a kind of New Age mix. But the true test of belief is how it affects
one’s behavior. Am I generous enough,
compassionate enough? Empathetic
enough? Spiritual enough? Then one has to ask, enough for what? For my mom?
Well, she’s dead; I’m going to have to answer such questions by myself
now.
We all come
to that point. Eventually, we ask
ourselves what we are doing on the planet.
My mother had it all worked out in pamphlet form, pure and simple. Life comes with an instruction manual, she
used to say, patting the cover of her well-worn Bible. But I never liked instruction manuals, and
seldom read them. And anyway, I often
feel like I’m a car, and I got an instruction manual for a TV. It seems to be my destiny to work things out
in the most complicated and difficult way possible.
Ultimately,
it is up to me to lead my own life, not my mother’s idea for it. You’d think I’d be comfortable with that
after all these years. But still, my
life does not feel complete. I don’t
understand why I would think that way; I’ve a loving wife, raised a beautiful
daughter, retired with honor from the fire department, and published two books
since then. I am a master martial artist
who has had the privilege of occasionally teaching over the past four
decades. Isn’t that enough?
I have this feeling that God has
something planned for me, but for some reason, He won’t tell me what it
is. I have to discover it on my
own. Well, that sucks. Other people have visions; where’s mine? Maybe if I said an especially poignant
prayer, God might have mercy on me, and throw me a bone. But maybe He’s been doing that all along, and
I’ve been too dense to see it. Maybe God
is having trouble dumbing down his communication skills to my level of
inattention.
The
metaphysics of grief are chewing me up.
The little pamphlet that the hospice nurses give surviving family
members talks about the five stages of the grief process: Denial, Anger,
Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. I
didn’t find that to be particularly helpful.
There was no sense denying what had happened, and I really wasn’t angry
about it. There was nothing to bargain
for, except perhaps some metaphysical clarity.
That leaves depression and acceptance.
Not exactly uplifting choices. I
need some other progression in order to move on.
I
think there must be a set of guidelines for metaphysical healing and growth
following a catastrophic event or significant loss for those of us who got the
wrong handbook. Here are my own
suggestions:
1.
Don’t assess your worth when you are depressed. You’re more likely to arrive at cynical and
self-depreciative conclusions. This can de-motivate the healing process.
2.
Be your best version of yourself. In times of high stress, we tend to make
short-term decisions based on comfort, and lose sight of our long term
goals. Avoid activities and food that
makes you fat and stupid. Remember who
you are, and what you are trying to achieve.
3.
Reach out to people who care for you. We are on this journey together, and we can
carry each other over the hard bridges.
Some will have comforting thoughts for you; others will be good
listeners. The best way to reach out is
to be the friend that others need. By giving, you will receive.
4.
Enjoy each moment here and now. Life is written in pencil; memories are
written in indelible ink. Live
honorably, so that each moment can be celebrated with joy and remembered with
pride. Savor the moment with each
breath.
5.
Step back from life’s rapids and meditate. Deep breathe, look around and
appreciate. Let go of your edges and be
one with all that surrounds you. Reach
out with your mind to the entire Universe and wish it well. Sometimes you might feel an exchange of
loving benevolence in return. One can
always hope. And, as my mother has
shown me, it certainly can’t hurt.
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