Last week, I was in Uzbekistan (I know, I know, a terribly self-promotional way to start a comment). But we were visiting one of the oldest mosques in the country and learned that underneath this mosque, there was a cavern--purpose-built, but just barely, a glorified cave really, musty, old, and almost pitch-black, with barely enough room for more than seven or eight people to climb in, all of whom had to stoop
At one end of this cavern, which was light only by a shaft of sunlight in one corner, there was a tunnel that was designed so that a person might lie down in it, mimicking death. The spiritually inclined would come and spend hours, sometimes weeks, mostly in this space, lying on their backs, in utter darkness; the guide told us we must not close our eyes, but imagine we are dead, and now with God, as all else has fallen away
One by one, our group took turns lying there for a few minutes
While I thought it might be terrifying -- after all, doesn't this force me to confront my faults, now that there is no worldly barrier between God and myself -- it was strangely intimate, not quite calm, but imbued with presence. Now I'm reading your piece and recognizing this on a different level: There's something about contemplating death that can be reassuring, even clarifying. The habit of locating cemeteries far away from where people live might also be seen, in this light, as ultimately to our loss
Thanks for this piece :) I tend to think the opposite- I fear for my funeral precisely because I think that's where my shortcomings will be laid bare. I won't have achieved all of that much, won't have many people singing my eulogies, and little, if anything, will be left behind of my soul. Instead, my ashes, the physical remains of what is always a relatively short life, will be the longest lasting and likely only real memorial I leave behind.
Living in an increasingly atomised world also deeply effects our relationship with death. It used to be that if a hearse went by, everyone would stop and doff their cap. Today, people walk on by, not slowing or even bothering to pay attention. Perhaps this is no bad thing- but it makes me wonder what place death really plays in our world today. I don't think Lasch was wrong or that you are but I also think our relationship with death today is more complex than perhaps both these claims make out.
Last week, I was in Uzbekistan (I know, I know, a terribly self-promotional way to start a comment). But we were visiting one of the oldest mosques in the country and learned that underneath this mosque, there was a cavern--purpose-built, but just barely, a glorified cave really, musty, old, and almost pitch-black, with barely enough room for more than seven or eight people to climb in, all of whom had to stoop
At one end of this cavern, which was light only by a shaft of sunlight in one corner, there was a tunnel that was designed so that a person might lie down in it, mimicking death. The spiritually inclined would come and spend hours, sometimes weeks, mostly in this space, lying on their backs, in utter darkness; the guide told us we must not close our eyes, but imagine we are dead, and now with God, as all else has fallen away
One by one, our group took turns lying there for a few minutes
While I thought it might be terrifying -- after all, doesn't this force me to confront my faults, now that there is no worldly barrier between God and myself -- it was strangely intimate, not quite calm, but imbued with presence. Now I'm reading your piece and recognizing this on a different level: There's something about contemplating death that can be reassuring, even clarifying. The habit of locating cemeteries far away from where people live might also be seen, in this light, as ultimately to our loss
Thanks for writing this!
Thanks for this piece :) I tend to think the opposite- I fear for my funeral precisely because I think that's where my shortcomings will be laid bare. I won't have achieved all of that much, won't have many people singing my eulogies, and little, if anything, will be left behind of my soul. Instead, my ashes, the physical remains of what is always a relatively short life, will be the longest lasting and likely only real memorial I leave behind.
Living in an increasingly atomised world also deeply effects our relationship with death. It used to be that if a hearse went by, everyone would stop and doff their cap. Today, people walk on by, not slowing or even bothering to pay attention. Perhaps this is no bad thing- but it makes me wonder what place death really plays in our world today. I don't think Lasch was wrong or that you are but I also think our relationship with death today is more complex than perhaps both these claims make out.