Tag Archive | meditation on death

The Last Solstice

Dec21
The ‘red lime’ is a cultivar which seemingly arrived on the citrus scene in 2006, and is described as possibly “a cross of Rangpur lime and a kumquat.” There’s not much more about it online. I’m grateful for this bounty that was given, and I squeezed all these to freeze juice while letting a few more ripen in the fridge. Orange appears to be the color of the day this solstice.

I’m grateful for every element of this morning’s latte and biscotti, and all the lives that contributed to this experience: coffee beans, milk, chocolate, almonds, orange zest, flour, sugar, vanilla orchid seeds, tree sap distilled into syrup, running water, tools and technology, and the last crumbs of maple sugar candy sprinkled on top with cinnamon. How many plants, animals, and human hands made this brief moment in my sunroom possible? Feeling the truth of intrabeing.

“When doing something for the last time, we almost never know that it is, in fact, the last time; and everything you will do today, pleasant and unpleasant, you will do a finite number of times. So why not give each thing your full attention?”

Sam Harris

I’ve thought a lot about this since I heard it the other day. In the same reflection, he points out that children grow up, and suddenly they’re too big to be picked up; a recent trend on Instagram shows mothers trying to lift up their teenage sons. I remember the last time I picked up Stellar as he grew from a puppy into a big dog.

I’m pretty sure this was it: he weighed about thirty pounds, and he was getting hard to lift when someone took this picture. I remember thinking, this is probably the last time I’ll pick him up. I remember the last time I made love with my ex-fiancé, and knowing it was the last time. And I know there are a million things I’ve already done for the last time and never realized it.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake today. This was definitely the last solstice of 2025, and I was going to mark the occasion by watching the sunset from the west fence. It wasn’t too dramatic when I got there, but the clouds have been exceptional recently and the fan of grey and deep blue stratocumulus (looking south, above) and altocumulus (looking north, below) quickly brightened as the earth spun away from the sun.

The color dimmed in the north and east, but deepened to the south. Soon the clouds to the west were on fire. I felt keenly the fleeting beauty, the one-timeness of this sunset, the one and only time the sky will look exactly like this. The next moment it looked different, and the next moment.

And who knows, this might be the last solstice sunset I’ll ever see, not just the last this year. All we ever have for certain is this moment, right now. It can be exhausting knowing this all the time, until with enough practice it becomes an effortless habit that enhances experience.

This is what’s meant by the phrase “Death is an ally.” When I’m aware that this could be the last time I see the sunset I really drink it in; when I remember that this is the last time I might see or speak with a friend, I can bring loving kindness into that moment and let grudges, judgements, and other distancing thoughts or feelings fade.

Everything changes, all the time. Let me remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.

How Much I Learned

Nov10
Baby Stellar with Uncle Brick in 2008

At the risk of seeming maudlin I am remembering, reviewing, calling to mind the details of Stellar’s last days. How time lost its linearity. 

I shared my life with him. There is no one now to turn to and smile. I would finish writing a bit at the desk, and turn to him, and smile. Wanna go for a walk? I’d stoke the fire, close the glass stove doors, turn back to the living room and there he is watching me from his bed, and I smile. Sometimes I’d move on to my next step in the day, or the evening, or sometimes I’d drop to all fours, crawl to lie down beside him, stroke his luxurious living coat, and notice, really notice, the feel of his scruff, rolling the folds of his neck flesh in my fingers, his thick silky fur… the pliability of his white chest star… the specific warmth of the breath from his nostrils across my skin, the hairs on my own forearm… I savored every living moment with him. I’m grateful for how much I learned during this extended interaction, this meditation with death.

Stellar and Topaz, equals and skeptical friends, last March, when we were all still walking the driveway. Topaz continues to improve gradually.

I may have made mistakes, made some choices based on less than accurate understandings of reality, but I believe I did the best that I could: stretching, giving, surrendering, loving with less and less condition… What I did next always involved him, whatever choice I made, to go in or outside, a short or long walk, watch TV or read, what I ate sometimes, where I was at every waking instant always involved him. I’m grateful to be able to recall vividly now, because I paid attention at the time, how he slowly settled when I stroked his shoulder, his back, how he relaxed onto his side and lay down his sweet head; how I held those acupressure pulses in his feet til he stretched his back legs with a big sigh. Later, that last month, how it soothed him when I whispered the mantra. And my attention was riveted on him even in my sleep, waking and analyzing the slightest sound from downstairs. Living in dedication to him brought out the best in me. He made it easy to embody my highest values. He was an inspiration, a Buddha dog.

May Stellar enjoy positive conditions,

High rebirth, happiness and peace,

May he meet the perfect teacher,

And quickly attain perfect enlightenment

For the benefit of all living beings without exception.