Death is Another Country

I heard the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the change

(To paraphrase the Beatles)

So another friend left his body rather permanently. I heard the news from a mutual friend. Dan was in his mid-50s, with a grown son and a college-age daughter. He wasn’t sick, except he apparently went home with the flu on Friday... and was never heard from again. On Tuesday, when his business partner couldn’t get in touch with him, he began to worry, went to his house, found his car there, but no answer at the door or on the phone. He called the cops who got in, and...

Dan was more of an acquaintance than a friend, someone with whom I meditated, and took part in group, and occasionally personal, discussions about the nature of reality and the highest good. I respected his insight, his balanced view of life, his eloquence — and his good heart. He was always the first to open his arms for a hug, and the first to burst into a hearty laugh. And I really liked him. But he wasn’t someone I ever called for a personal reason, his or mine.

Dan was one of the angels in this earthly bar, the ones who come and go, as we all do, who enter through the swinging doors (take a body), have a drink, some food, hook up, break up, maybe play a game of poker, or pour a beer for someone else, watch the dramas unfolding, and leave again through those same swinging doors.

So why am I so upset?

I mean, this is as upsetting to me as when my good friend, Charlotte, checked out a few months ago (see http://10minutesaday.blogspot.com/2007/11/so-this-angel-walks-into-bar.html ). But of course, at some level, I expected her to leave, just didn’t know when, and so I was pretty complete with her. And I was most definitely not complete with Dan. I really regret that I didn’t get to know this very cool person better.

Does that explain this level of upset?

As I check inside, I find a sort of energetic steel tube in my core, which I move out of me so that I can talk with it. The first thing it says is, ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I’. It’s true — we can all leave the bar at any time. I’m pretty clear that Dan was complete on some level, and he’s probably having a blast exploring new realms, whatever is outside the swinging doors. So leaving the bar doesn’t sound so bad. But on the other hand, who knows when I’ll find another body to inhabit? And they say that Earth is a destination planet because of its beauty.

I guess I have to get used to it... People, my friends, are going to leave the bar with regular, and probably increasing, frequency. That means I have three choices.

The first is to mourn.

The second choice is to learn to be a clearer medium, so that I can still talk to them. I think of it like this: death is another country. What do I mean? Three or four generations ago, in the 19th century, when someone left their village in Russia to come to America, they could have no expectation of ever going back to visit. Nor could they count on the relatives that they left behind ever coming to America. Communication was pretty minimal, too. This was before the telephone. They had letters, of course, but those were quite slow, possibly expensive, and probably infrequent. Today, when someone dies, it’s like we’re in Russia and he or she went to America. There aren’t any letters, but there are mediums, who may be expensive and whom I’ll only call infrequently. If I develop my mediumistic abilities, it’ll be like having a telephone would have been in the 19th century — not as good as having the person with you, but way better than no communication at all. And eventually, I know I’ll go to America, too.

The third choice is to focus on the angels still in the bar, to love them, and appreciate them, and see one leaving as an opportunity to get to know another.