Here is the view across the valley in the window of the cabin.I have been receiving news of a lay trainee in our Order who is in hospital, reaching for breath and more than likely life itself. And he is bright, so the messages tell me. We sing scriptures, we sit, we do services, and he wants to listen to us singing the scriptures at the meditation group. We will bring him a recording next week. He is an inspiration to all who visit. Right in the middle of unmasked physical and mental struggles he is bright. That’s what they say. Inspiration comes from the depths and spreads unknowingly, far and wide. Not measurable and yet to be seen and known through everyday events. I guess that is what the visitor’s encounter, the source of inspiration being shown in every day ways, at the bedside.
People worry about making a good death. For most of us I think that means 'looking good' at the moment of death. From my observations, this hardly ever happens, death is bigger than that.
There is a story of a Zen master of old speaking his last words. His disciples were gathered around his bed, all ears. The last teaching of the Master, their death poem or just their last words are considered very important. The last words are, after all, the pithy culmination of a lifetime’s contemplation. The Masters expression of realized Truth. He spoke very softly and his disciples couldn’t hear him. Or perhaps they couldn’t believe their ears. Master, please say that again we didn’t quite hear you. (Actually it’s not done to ask a teacher to repeat him or herself.) Anyway, he spoke louder, loud enough for them to hear very clearly. I DON'T WANT TO DIE. Then he died. Leaving his disciples stood around, no doubt stunned by this revelation. He was not concerned about looking or sounding good, he spoke the truth of the moment.
No problem.
