Death and Dying
Maya Lavá on death’s ever-presence and its discomforting absence it our culture.
Below is an inspiring guest post by friend Maya Lavá. A catalyst, a movement medicine teacher, a coach, a cacao alchemist, an inspirationalistess, she is all these things, but also a mother and daughter who is brave enough to share her thoughts with us as one of her own passes on into the dark, reminding us of death’s ever-presence and its discomforting absence it our culture.
Perhaps those of you who experienced the passing away of one or both of your parents are somewhat accustomed to it. You experienced the process, climbed up and down the learning curve as well as harvested the gifts that this time had brought to you.
So far, I have witnessed many of my friends leaving this realm, due to sickness, unfortunate accidents or even taking their precious life themselves. All of my grandparents died more or less twenty years ago. It always felt very sad. I remember the grief and pain, and yet it faded away fairly fast.
When we look into our relationship to death and dying, what do we see?
Are there any support networks for people to learn to cope with it?
Better yet, are there any publicly known tools and practices to teach us how to make it an integral part of our lives as humans?
Do we actually teach our young ones about it?
How do we actually make death an ally instead of an enemy?
If we omit the last two years, when specific death numbers were being published daily—more to scare and manipulate people rather than anything else—I can perceive a vast abyss.
What is it about death that we actually fear?
It feels that in our society—mainly in the West—we live in denial that it even exists. We journey through our lives safely, almost putting death aside, refusing to acknowledge death as being part of life at all. We are being taught not to mention it too much, to avoid the topic in conversations, not to upset people and to pretend we are all living happily ever after.
I am now standing at the threshold of a new chapter. Accompanying my mother to the other side. Allegedly, she’s got weeks or perhaps even days to live (as I was told today). She’s been surviving the last few years in the utmost pain and distress, which has culminated in her present situation. She’s been meeting her condition with the power of a lioness, trying to conquer it with various alternative therapies and remedies. Yet, it seems that her soul has been shedding for many past as well as future lifetimes, leaving her current body in chaos.
She’s not ready to die.
Are we ever ready to die?
To embrace the cold breath of the black shadowy creature telling us it’s time?
How can we ever be ready in this culture where we truly have barely any means to prepare us for this time?
Throughout our sheer existence, death is omnipresent, being felt in every moment and in every breath. From the moment of birth we are slowly walking towards the ending. And we do not know how long we have here on Earth. Some are luckier than others. Yet, children are told not to see grandparents when dying or being buried. To ‘save’ them from unwanted moods and emotions. But whose are these? The children’s or ours? When we let children face life as a whole, they accept it much easier than we have ever envisioned.
They learn through experiences and our own ways of dealing with situations. My son was introduced to the topic of karma and reincarnation when he was two and half years old. Since then we have had regular conversations about death, past lives, the cosmos, future lives, souls meeting, etc. When he was five, he asked me to show him what death looks like, too see someone dying. At first I was shocked and denied his request. After sometime I started to browse YouTube, and I found a seven-minute-long video capturing an Indian family surrounding a dying loved one. A man was lying on the ground outside while the family held a ritual, lighting candles, burning incense, and singing songs for him to have a peaceful crossing. We both watched it, fascinated with the normality of the fact that he was dying.
I had tears in my eyes throughout, yet my son just watched. He said it was interesting and great that the family had lots of fun and that the guy would be reincarnated into another amazing life. And that was it, my son went to go and play.
These days, when I sometimes cry, my son comes to me saying that I should think of something else when I am not with Grandma, that she can already look forward to another incredible experience that is yet to be borne.
Children are so pure, innocent, wise and present.
I’ve been sad, I’ve cried lots, feeling my grief.
I often fall down on my knees and weep.
I scream and let the pain express itself in various forms.
I dance madly every day, finding movement to be one of the greatest tools there are. Despite being on my knees and in the utmost pain, I can shake hard, totally relax in the chaos and feel joy in my heart. And there it goes on. In cycles. Like life.
And during this time, I keep pondering how to be and how to share the theme of death with others. When I mention it to someone, many apologise for opening the subject, not wanting me to be upset, preferring not to see me in distress. Others simply avoid any answer related to it, pretending I didn’t mention it.
Why?
The same goes for my mother. The subject of dying is taboo. My mission has been to navigate conversations and time with her while avoiding the subject. I was told to accept it fully—the fact that she doesn’t want to admit that she is dying and the death that is coming.
How do I not allow my current life to crash and fall apart?
How do I continue being myself, being a creative person with projects?
I can’t seem to find the answers. I am feeling completely overwhelmed as I have been journeying with her in close proximity and witnessing her utter pain for years now. It’s been too much for too long.
Lately, while visiting the hospital, I have observed so many of disturbing situations that my heart has felt like it is breaking apart. So many old, sick people stuck in one room without much air, nurses too busy to have enough time to care for everyone properly, elders being treated without dignity. It has left me feeling disgusting at times.
The older I get, the more I wish our ‘civilised’ society would honour the elders with respect and dignity, to cherish them and the wisdom they have gained during their long lifetimes, to hold passing away rituals and gather in the communities and circles to support this, to sing and celebrate their lives, to regain their stories so that they may be passed on to the next generations.
What are we doing here on Earth? Putting so much emphasis on youth and beauty and, at the same time, still searching for something more permanent and immortal?
I don’t know.
I am just grateful with each year I get to spend here on Earth.
I learn on the go.
I follow my inner guidance.
I am learning so much.
One day at the time.
Actually, these days, moment by moment.
There is nothing else.