Proximity to death definitely provides perspective!
When thinking of aging and death, I often think of this medieval German poem by Walther von der Vogelweide called "What has become of all my years now past?" This poem was written around 1220 but it sounds like it could be from the present to me:
Alas what has become of all my years now past!
has my life been a dream, or real from first to last?
that formerly imagined, was it really so?
I have slept since then and I really do not know.
now I have awakened to find all that I knew
as closely as my own hand seems strange and untrue.
the folk and land to which since boyhood I’ve close ties
feel now so unfamiliar as were they but lies.
those who were my playmates are lethargic and old.
the fields destroyed by fire, the woods all felled and sold:
Had not the river flowed where long since it did before,
my misery indeed I believe had pained me sore.
I get but distant greeting from those who knew me well.
and everywhere the world is a thankless place to dwell.
and when I recollect many blissful days of yore,
they’ve vanished as in water the marks left by an oar,
ever more alas.
Alas young folk’s behaviour is wretched or worse,
with wit and keen refinement they once did converse,
but now are merely mournful: ah, why is that so?
Whichever way I turn, no happiness they show:
Where young folk danced and sang, all go with heads quite bowed,
no christian ever saw such a miserable crowd.
just notice how the ladies huge headdresses bear:
and proud knights put on clothes such as poor peasants wear.
from Rome disturbing missives arrive at our door,
that only grief afford us and joy permit no more.
this causes such distress (our spirits once were high)
that I instead of laughter would now choose to cry.
the birds at large in nature grow sad since we complain:
it scarcely is surprising that I from joy abstain.
alas what stupid words do I speak, by anger torn?
who here would seek delight has later joy forsworn,
ever more alas.
Alas things far too sweet us poison and enthrall!
in honey I see floating what is but bitter gall:
outside the world is beauteous, is white, green and red,
and inside black as death that fills us with such dread.
let anyone seduced here consolation find:
small penances absolve great sins if true in kind.
be mindful of this knights: remember without fail,
you wear your shining helmets and tightly meshed chain mail,
as too your sturdy shields and consecrated swords.
may god me some day later just victory afford!
then I, poor and needy, a great reward would reap.
I do not speak of land, rich men their gold may keep:
I yearn to wear that crown for all eternity
which mercenary soldiers with spear would gain for free.
and if that longed-for sea-voyage should ever come to pass
then I would sing ‘how glorious’ and never more ‘alas’,
I agree with the thrust of your piece though. Brushes with death help make life and death both seem more real. They shake you out of complacency and provide perspective. I have had many, including yesterday, and I think it has helped.
There is no need to fear death, it is a beautiful justice of nature. People are afraid of how and where they will die and what will happen to what they leave behind.
George Carlin wrote a longform piece on this: “You’re all going to die. I hate to remind you, but it is on your schedule.”
It’s remarkable in how casually it treats the topic with such levity. He talks about a little-known phenomenon called the “two-minute warning”, where you learn two minutes before your number is up. He suggests using this as a chance to give religion a bad name by cutting in line in front of one of those faith healers, and as soon as he declares you healed, you croak at his feet.
He says as long as it’s inevitable (“the only thing that’s truly democratic: everyone gets it once, but only once. No rehearsals”), don’t just “pass away”; die! Don’t go silently in a chair; have a two minute spazzout session in a hotel lobby culminating in a grand finale of plotzing headfirst into the big fountain with your leg twitching.
I love George Carlin. It's been said before but we miss him right now. Why did he have to go and die on us? He could have at least given us a two minute warning on the warning, and a warning about the warning beforehand and so on...
As someone who has dealt with a lot death, and transcended multiple times with Tier 1 Psychedelics - I am confident we can make this experience better. I highly recommend 'The Tibetan Book of Living & the Dead' - you don't have to be a Buddhist to understand its core message about dying the right way (for the record, I am not a Buddhist).
Thank you for this essay.
Exactly what we write and talk about at Pages By The Sea. Remove the fear and discuss the inevitable.
Proximity to death definitely provides perspective!
When thinking of aging and death, I often think of this medieval German poem by Walther von der Vogelweide called "What has become of all my years now past?" This poem was written around 1220 but it sounds like it could be from the present to me:
Alas what has become of all my years now past!
has my life been a dream, or real from first to last?
that formerly imagined, was it really so?
I have slept since then and I really do not know.
now I have awakened to find all that I knew
as closely as my own hand seems strange and untrue.
the folk and land to which since boyhood I’ve close ties
feel now so unfamiliar as were they but lies.
those who were my playmates are lethargic and old.
the fields destroyed by fire, the woods all felled and sold:
Had not the river flowed where long since it did before,
my misery indeed I believe had pained me sore.
I get but distant greeting from those who knew me well.
and everywhere the world is a thankless place to dwell.
and when I recollect many blissful days of yore,
they’ve vanished as in water the marks left by an oar,
ever more alas.
Alas young folk’s behaviour is wretched or worse,
with wit and keen refinement they once did converse,
but now are merely mournful: ah, why is that so?
Whichever way I turn, no happiness they show:
Where young folk danced and sang, all go with heads quite bowed,
no christian ever saw such a miserable crowd.
just notice how the ladies huge headdresses bear:
and proud knights put on clothes such as poor peasants wear.
from Rome disturbing missives arrive at our door,
that only grief afford us and joy permit no more.
this causes such distress (our spirits once were high)
that I instead of laughter would now choose to cry.
the birds at large in nature grow sad since we complain:
it scarcely is surprising that I from joy abstain.
alas what stupid words do I speak, by anger torn?
who here would seek delight has later joy forsworn,
ever more alas.
Alas things far too sweet us poison and enthrall!
in honey I see floating what is but bitter gall:
outside the world is beauteous, is white, green and red,
and inside black as death that fills us with such dread.
let anyone seduced here consolation find:
small penances absolve great sins if true in kind.
be mindful of this knights: remember without fail,
you wear your shining helmets and tightly meshed chain mail,
as too your sturdy shields and consecrated swords.
may god me some day later just victory afford!
then I, poor and needy, a great reward would reap.
I do not speak of land, rich men their gold may keep:
I yearn to wear that crown for all eternity
which mercenary soldiers with spear would gain for free.
and if that longed-for sea-voyage should ever come to pass
then I would sing ‘how glorious’ and never more ‘alas’,
never more alas.
Thank you for sharing this poem!
I agree with the thrust of your piece though. Brushes with death help make life and death both seem more real. They shake you out of complacency and provide perspective. I have had many, including yesterday, and I think it has helped.
There is no need to fear death, it is a beautiful justice of nature. People are afraid of how and where they will die and what will happen to what they leave behind.
We have many fears.
George Carlin wrote a longform piece on this: “You’re all going to die. I hate to remind you, but it is on your schedule.”
It’s remarkable in how casually it treats the topic with such levity. He talks about a little-known phenomenon called the “two-minute warning”, where you learn two minutes before your number is up. He suggests using this as a chance to give religion a bad name by cutting in line in front of one of those faith healers, and as soon as he declares you healed, you croak at his feet.
He says as long as it’s inevitable (“the only thing that’s truly democratic: everyone gets it once, but only once. No rehearsals”), don’t just “pass away”; die! Don’t go silently in a chair; have a two minute spazzout session in a hotel lobby culminating in a grand finale of plotzing headfirst into the big fountain with your leg twitching.
As soon as we are born, we die; no one escapes biological aging.
“As soon as you’re born, you start dying.
So you might as well have a good time.”
- Cake, “Sheep Go To Heaven”.
I love George Carlin. It's been said before but we miss him right now. Why did he have to go and die on us? He could have at least given us a two minute warning on the warning, and a warning about the warning beforehand and so on...
Beautiful article. Yes, we can make death better.
As someone who has dealt with a lot death, and transcended multiple times with Tier 1 Psychedelics - I am confident we can make this experience better. I highly recommend 'The Tibetan Book of Living & the Dead' - you don't have to be a Buddhist to understand its core message about dying the right way (for the record, I am not a Buddhist).
Thank you for the book recommendation!
Psychedelics could also help.
I have read and occasionally visit the website dalailama.com
I once interviewed him!
When he was in Prague, I cried when he hugged Václav Havel, who looked like he was about to die. The Dalai Lama was the embodiment of compassion.
Thank you for the recommendation.