On Death

The recent bomb blast at the German Bakery here in Pune, causing the death of ten friends, sets me to thinking of my own death experience.

It’s 1972, and I’m living in Ellis Island, the L.A. commune I’ve told you about in other blog entries. It’s dinner time and we are all gathered around the table getting ready to eat. Lots of laughter and excitement at the end of the day, the gossip and the joy of being together after the day’s work is through.

Maria has cooked the dinner tonight. It’s a meat dinner, small pieces of beef wrapped around a vegetable of some sort. I have a habit of talking while I am eating, and eating much too quickly. All of a sudden I can’t swallow the meat that is in my mouth and I start to choke. It’s stuck there! Shock! My husband beside me is holding me and yelling, “She’s choking; someone do something!”

I hear Karen scream, “Hold her up by her ankles!” and I know that somehow no one is going to do that. I hear crying as well as laughter and my mind thinks, “Isn’t this amazing? My mother is dying and I am dying before her.”

The inbreath is very long – there is so much time to just be with this knowing that I am dying and nothing to do but be with it. So many thoughts are there but there is also a very quiet feeling of acceptance before I breathe out. I fall to the floor and the memory of that particular let-go still remains in my experience forever. The meat goes down while I also see the dark tunnel; I am relaxed.

Many times in my life since then, when I am very tired, and I just sit down for a rest and let my breath out I am reminded of that time, before Osho came into my life when I knew then how to die and will know again when that time comes.