PAGE ONE

• Introduction
• A Pilgrim’s Prayer
• The Problem of Death
• Mastering the Natural Art of Dying
• Dreaming, Dying and Continuity
• Honoring the Wisdom of Death
• Subscribe to the NGWS Newsletter

PAGE TWO  Action

This issue is dedicated to the memory of Bruce Allen 
December 17,1937-
June 3, 2001.

A Pilgrim’s Prayer

To set aside all differences
To share responsibility
To recognize that we are one
To strive for unanimity

To see beyond the shadows
To breach the shrouding veil
To leap into the sky
And catch a comet by the tail

To reach the destination
Which has ever been the goal
Attaining liberation
And shining forth as soul

May our works be works of love
And not be works of pride
May we ever work as one
With Purpose as our guide

With Light and Love and Power
May we implement the Plan
And with our every word and deed
May we serve God and Man.

Bruce Allen Jan. 2000

We are therefore considering... the problem of death or the art of dying. This is something which all seriously ill people must inevitably face, and for which those in good health should prepare themselves through correct thinking and sane anticipation. The morbid attitude of the majority of men to the subject of death, and their refusal to consider it when in good health, is something which must be altered and deliberately changed. Christ demonstrated to His disciples the correct attitude when referring to His coming and immediate decease at the hand of His enemies; He chided them when they evidenced sorrow, reminding them that He was going to His Father... The fear and the morbidness which the subject of death usually evokes, and the unwillingness to face it with understanding are due to the emphasis which people lay upon the fact of the physical body... it is based also upon an innate fear of loneliness and the loss of the familiar. Yet the loneliness which eventuates after death, when the man finds himself without a physical vehicle, is as nothing compared to the loneliness of birth. At birth, the soul finds itself in new surroundings and immersed in a body which is at first totally incompetent to take care of itself or to establish intelligent contact with surrounding conditions for a long period of time. The man comes into incarnation with no recollection as to the identity or the significance to him of the group of souls in bodies with which he finds himself in relationship; this loneliness only disappears gradually as he makes his own personality contacts, discovers those who are congenial to him and eventually gathers around him those whom he calls his friends. After death this is not so, for the man finds on the other side of the veil those whom he knows and who have been connected with him in physical plane life, and he is never alone as human beings understand loneliness...

Mastering the Natural Art of Dying
Make Death Come to Life

By Pythia Peay, Common Boundary

My father's death forever changed my relationship to life. Sitting at his bedside when his breathing stopped, I was awed by the transformations in his body: the deep relaxation that smoothed his furrowed brow, the look of pained concentration that slowly changed to wonder, the pearly translucence that radiated softly around him. I felt that I was witnessing a sacred event, perhaps even a miracle.

Ten months earlier, before he became bedridden with prostate cancer, my father had made it clear that he would not enter the hospital. If he was going to die, it would happen his way: He would be in his own bed, with the TV on and a cigarette and a drink nearby. I steeled myself for the worst, imagining that he would die a lonely alcoholic's death or that he would shoot himself if the pain got too severe, as he had often said he might. I relinquished the idea of a funeral because of his hatred of Catholicism, so there would be no end-of-life resolution, I thought sadly—more likely anger, perhaps relief.

But somehow my father died in peace, at home, surrounded by a loving family. He had made his peace with estranged relatives and with God. He had written a will, reconciled with the Church, and even helped plan his funeral. He had spent long hours recalling scenes from his youth, and a stream of dreams and hallucinations had opened up for him the possibility of an afterlife. His dying became a kind of party—sending out for his favorite foods, socializing with family, enjoying a few last drinks and cigarettes. And although my father and I did not say all the things to each other I had hoped we might, we walked his very last mile together, and that brought a lasting healing to our relationship.

The miracle of my father's dying occurred through the human agency of hospice workers—a chaplain, a social worker, and a nurse—as well as a priest with a soul of gold and a family who maintained a vigil until the end. My father did not die in pain, because he had been treated with morphine; nor did he die in fear, because he had confronted his anxieties; and he did not die alone, because counselors helped him reach closure with those dearest to him.

But as the reactions of friends who have lost parents made clear, my father's dying contrasted dramatically with the cultural norm. The hospice support was so unlike the more clinical treatment in a hospital. I began to wonder whether our society's neglect of the metaphysical dimension of death contributes to the suffering that attends our dying. Other ages and cultures have given more spiritual assistance to those confronting the mysterious passage from life to death. Unlike our society, they were aware that the dying process can be another stage of growth...

To read the rest of this fine article please click below to go to the Utne Reader website and the article:
Mastering the Natural Art of Dying

by Pythia Peay
From Common Boundary

Pythia Peay is a columnist who writes on psychology and spirituality for Religion News Service and a contributing editor for Common Boundary. Adapted with permission from Common Boundary (Sept./Oct. 1997) Box 445, Mt. Morris, IL 61054.