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Death and Buddhism
mynameisuntz
Explorer
I've asked a question regarding death before, but I still struggle to grasp how Buddhism approaches death. Specifically, how we should view/act in response to the death of a loved one. Do we mourn? Or is this attachment? Should we feel sorrow at all? Or does that qualify as attachment?
Perhaps if anyone can speak on behalf of personal experience what the "grieving" process may have been for them (if willing to share). Or simply how they intend to approach such a thing as seeing loved ones pass is inevitable in life.
Thanks!
Perhaps if anyone can speak on behalf of personal experience what the "grieving" process may have been for them (if willing to share). Or simply how they intend to approach such a thing as seeing loved ones pass is inevitable in life.
Thanks!
0
Comments
The Buddha felt sadness and mourned the loss of these lives, but he knew that sadness too would pass. A human feels emotion, but a skillful human does not attach themselves to these emotions and sees that these will pass.
Being a Buddha does not stop bad things from happening to you and does not make you happy all the time. This is a misconception and would be an inhuman feat to stay happy all the time. Being a Buddha means you accept things as how they really are.
then you move on.
those who are ignorant cling to the grieving process, thus they create an identity around it.
those who are ignorant push away and repress the grieving process, thus they create an identity around it.
the natural energy when something like a loved one dying is to grieve. the process when just allowed, comes like a storm and leaves like a storm. to neither push or pull is true non attachment.
so let it come! be with it. allow it! let it tear the body/mind apart. then when it leaves give it a swift bow.
for such sorrow is the greatest teacher. death is the greatest reminder that life is fragile.
I think whether we think its unbuddhist or not we have no choice. We mourn.
While it's not a human, I went through that process with a very old, very beloved dog this summer. She was nearly 16 years old. I'd anticipated coming home to find her dead for several years, but she kept plugging along. When the time finally came though, it was much less traumatic for me that the loss of my previous dog had been (I'd not been at all mentally prepared for that). I still cried, and it still hurt a lot, but it was different from before. I still miss her sometimes, but looking at it from (and I hate this term) the "Buddhist perspective" made a big difference to me.
Curious.
Twice this week I have posted this: And the 1st anniversary just days away.....
When we're born we're already dead, you know. Aging and death are the same thing. It's like a tree. Part of it's the base; part of it's the end at the tip. When there's a base, there's an end. When there's an end, there's a base. When there's no base, there's no end. When there's an end, there has to be a base. An end without a base: That can't be. That's how it is.
So it's kind of amusing. When a person dies, we're sad and upset. We sit and cry, grieving — all kinds of things. That's delusion. It's delusion, you know. When a person dies we sob and cry. That's the way it's been since who knows when. We don't stop to examine this carefully. Actually — and excuse me for saying this — it appears to me that if you're going to cry when a person dies, it'd be better to cry when a person is born. But we have it all backwards. When a child is born, people beam and laugh from happiness. But actually birth is death. Death is birth. The beginning is the end; the end is the beginning.
from:
http://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/thai/chah/insimpleterms.html
One day he was told about another monk, one who lived in a cave and who had broken many vows and attracted scandals, and how someone should teach that wicked old monk how to live a holy life. So Wonhyo traveled up the mountain and found a little old monk with a wisp of beard and skin like a crumpled paper bag. Barefoot and in tattered clothes, This old monk was sitting beside a dead fawn, weeping. Wonhyo was dumbfounded. How could an enlightened being be either happy or sad, since in the state of Nirvana there is nothing to be happy or sad about, and no one to be happy or sad? He asked the monk why he was weeping over an illusion called death.
The monk explained that he had come upon the fawn after its mother had been killed by hunters. It was very hungry. So he had gone into town for milk. Since he knew no one would give milk for an animal, he had said it was for his son. "What kind of monk has a son? Dirty old man!" people thought. But some gave him a little milk. He had continued this way for a month, begging enough to keep the fawn alive. Then the scandal became too great, and no one would help. He had been wandering for three days now, in search of milk. At last he had found some, but when he returned to the cave, his fawn was already dead.
"Then the fawn has gone on to its next life," Wonhyo said, "and you damaged your reputation for nothing. But there is no need to cry."
"You don't understand," the monk told Wonhyo. "My mind and the fawn's mind are the same. It was very hungry: 'I want milk, I want milk.' Now it is dead. Its mind is my mind. That's why I am weeping. I want milk."
Then Wonhyo truly understood the reality of life and death and sat down and cried along with the old monk.
I hope this helps.
At first, of course, I was seeking relief -- something that would take the sorrow and sense of loss and somehow erase or reconfigure it. Naturally, that didn't work. Sad is sad. Hurt is hurt. Loss is loss. But over time, I lost my desire to change things. It wasn't conscious ... not some sort of top-heavy adventure in Buddhist virtue. It just happened. If, on a particular day, I felt sad, well, that was it. If, on a particular day, I felt grateful, well, that was it. If, on a particular day, I felt angry and bereft, well, that was it. Day after day after day after day. The need for relief dissolved a bit at a time ... and if, by chance, it returned, well, that was it.
I think I once read that Gautama looked into the future, saw wars and turbulence, and he wept. Isn't it funny how no one thinks twice about laughter when hearing a fine joke, but when weeping arises, suddenly it's something that needs fixing.
My guess is that it's worth examining. What's the matter with tears?
1) Mourning is not wrong - we are human, and thus subject to human emotion.
2) The goal ought to be not attaching oneself to the mourning, or negative emotion. Much like meditation or the middle path, we see mourning and emotion of all kind as clouds passing through the sky - realize they are here now, embrace them, but do not attach ourselves to them because they will pass.
3) It is not an attempt to prevent the ability to feel negative emotions so much as treating them once they are here.
That's what I've gathered. But please correct me if I'm misinterpreting!
you don't need to distance yourself from it, nor do you need to fix it.
fully feel sad and in such total acceptance of what is, the clear view of reality will show. make inside and outside total sadness. or happiness. or whatever you want to make it. just don't make a divide.
how do you not divide? just let it be as it is.
I think you've pretty much got the gist....