Do you remember dying?

Gini had been an architect and a trainer for Transcendental Meditation. Her house was meticulously clean and orderly. Everything had been placed with conscious intent. Even her garden was very clean without any weeds.

By her own admission she loved being in control of her life. Dying to her was a way to feel out of control. She both felt scared of it and looked forward to it. Her husband Roy had died four years ago and Gini was more than ready to join him. She looked forward to joining him.

Gini went down fast. Ten days after I had been hired, she was actively dying. That is she was expected to die within the next 12 to 24 hours. (Click here to read about actively dying.)

It was my turn to work that day. But I had never seen a dead body. I had never been with a person dying. I was not sure how to be. What to do. Who to be...

All that did not matter. I had to go to work.

I did. And I found out that I knew exactly how to be. What to do. Who to be. With some help of the nurse I did what needed to be done, feeling clear and calm.

Gini died around seven in the evening. I sat with her dead body afterwards, taking my time to feel into this new situation. This had been my first time caring for a dying person. This was my first dead body.

I softened my gaze without focusing on anything in particular. I opened my eyes to take in the whole room. I felt for my inner eyes. Deep inside my head. I just sat with that soft open gaze. And with Gini's dead body.

Seeing with my inner eyes, I saw two things at once. Like a double exposure on a film.

I saw Gini's dead face, her mouth open, her eyes closed, her skin white.

I saw a line of similar faces behind Gini's face. Stretching way beyond her. Hundreds of dead faces. Just their outlines. One after another.

I realized that these were the dead faces my Beingness had seen. Had seen over the course of many life times.

In every life time my Beingness must have seen at least one person die or dead. Most likely more than one in those lifetimes where dying was still part of living.

No wonder I knew exactly how to be. What to do. Who to be. My Beingness had done it many times.

I did remember dying. And in remembering I found my passion. My passion for all things dying.

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