By Patricia Gulino Lansky, L.C.S.W.
As a psychotherapist and licensed clinical social worker for 40 years, and an ordained Unity minister for 25 years, I’ve been privileged to know many courageous souls in their most personal and intimate moments and transitions. One of these was friend who suffered from a very difficult and painful dying process.
I’m no stranger to death, when I was younger, eight of my family members died, each with a long-term illness—about one every three years. Witnessing my friend’s death, and listening to her anguished plea: “Please somebody help me,” made me once again question, “What more could I do to help?”
- Why was she so afraid to die?
- Why was she unsure of what to expect in the dying process?
- Why was she flooded with regrets and unfinished business?
- Why did she fear God’s wrath?
- Was there anything that could have helped her to have a more peaceful process of
dying? - What if there was a way to no longer fear death and to understand that death is naturally a part of life?
- What if we could become a bridge for our loved ones so that they might embrace the great and mysterious adventure we call death peacefully, gently, and with dignity?
These questions and more inspired me to write my book, Accepting Death, Embracing Life: How Death Teaches Us to Live.
Here is an excerpt from the book from a chapter “Developing a Practice of Letting Go” about Impermanence. For ordering information, please see the information at the end of the article.
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Chapter 7
Developing A Practice of Letting Go
“Come to me, all of you, who are tired from carrying heavy loads and I will give you rest.”—Matthew 11:28
“If you suffer, it is not because things are impermanent. You suffer because you believe things are supposed to be permanent.”—Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Buddhist teacher
Why do I highlight “letting go” above all other practices as a way to embrace life? The ability to let go, our level of ease with it, is the very process we must embrace as we die. In accepting death, we let go of our world, everything we have known, our loved ones, even our own body. Everything goes except for our soul, the lessons learned and the love we have given and received. Throughout life, each loss, each release is an opportunity to reassess how far we’ve progressed in our willingness to let go.
When I was five years old, I remember a special summer when my family was visited by our adult cousins who lived in Gary, Indiana. This was my first meeting with those handsome, towering people. It surprised me that these extraordinary beings were part of my family, and they instantly loved me just because I was one of them. I delighted to be in their presence because they included me as if they’d always known me.
We all went to visit our other cousins in East Aurora, a fitting name for such a magical destination. On that hot summer day, we all changed into our bathing suits and laughingly cavorted on our way to the river behind my cousin’s farm.
The River
I hadn’t yet learned how to float so Dad said he’d teach me. I remember the cousins’ comforting presence with their playful ways surrounding me in the river. Dad held me on my back in the deeper middle of the river. I felt the slow flow of water on either side of me. I feared a bit as I tried to find the right place for my head—not under water and not held above the water. I felt my dad’s hands supporting me, his calming voice talking to me. I didn’t know how to make myself float, but then I felt it: the ever-present support of the water. I just leaned back, and I was carried effortlessly. The branches of the trees above me filtered streams of light through the leaves and the clear river filled with light rays as well.
When I found that place inside me of trust, in an instant I was floating. It seemed so easy. Now I would never not know how to float. I wondered why I had been afraid of it before. I trusted my father to keep me safe, and I relaxed into trusting the river to hold me and carry me. I couldn’t get enough of lying on my back and gliding in the soft flow of that river. What a day it was—the day I learned to lie back, let go, and trust.
Can I remember to continue to relax into trusting the flow of my spiritual journey, of my unconditionally loving divine parent, who is even more sustaining and ever present than my dear father and those astonishing cousins could be? Yet all of their love was an expression of the eternal love, a love which released such joy in me.
The Tibetan Buddhist Sand Mandala
If you ever have the opportunity to witness the construction of a Tibetan Buddhist Sand mandala, it is not to be missed. Creating a mandala is an ancient form of art and spiritual practice in which a team of Tibetan Buddhist monks use a variety of colored grains of sand to create a graphic and symbolic pattern in the form of a circle. They begin by drawing the outline of the design and then add various colors of sand to create one section at a time, working from the center outward.
We invited the construction of a Sand Mandala at our center and hundreds of people came, many with children, to watch the slow, methodical process of seven Tibetan monks piling grain after grain of sand into an intricate, three-dimensional pattern. During the five days it took to complete the design, everyone who entered this sacred space was respectful and even little children were quiet. The only sound was the gentle scraping of the small metal tubes and funnels the monks used to apply the sand.
One of the days, I happened to be near a little boy sitting on his mother’s lap, totally enthralled with the mandala process. The lad was told that as soon as the mandala was finished, the monks would destroy it.
“Why are they destroying it?” The boy found this incomprehensible.
One of the monks whispered, “It’s about impermanence.”
We adults nearby wondered how to explain impermanence to a five-year-old. My husband, Don, came to the rescue. “Nothing lasts forever. You know, it’s like your toys. Sometimes they break. Sometimes you might not want them anymore.”
As the little boy seemed to quietly mull that over, I wondered what lasting impression this mandala experience might have on his young mind. I wondered what impression our experience of an artistically created ritual of “nothing lasts forever,” would make on each of our minds.
There is an old tale about a monkey who loved sweets. One day he discovered a jar half-filled with the special hard candy that he loved so much that he drooled over it. The monkey put his hand into the jar and grabbed a handful of candy, but with his fist full, he couldn’t pull his hand out of the jar. If he could have let go of his attachment to having all those sweets at once, he might have eased one piece out at a time. Instead, in order to pull his fist out, he had to let go of all of it.
We may be afraid that when we let something go, nothing will take its place. We dread that what we lose will never be replaced with something at least as good, and certainly not better than what we have been holding onto so tightly. We fear the unknown and cling to that which is familiar. We can release these limiting beliefs and choose to believe that what is coming next can be better than what was before. To release in a positive and freeing way we can:
• recognize our attachment
• face it
• let it go
• be open to the possibility of having something better or becoming something greater.
At the end of the week of the Sand Mandala construction, we were told that the heart of Buddhism is contained in this ceremony which reinforces our wisdom and understanding that nothing is permanent. Appreciating change, we can see that from moment to moment, nothing is the same. We are encouraged through this ritual to let go and be at peace with releasing, not to dwell in the sadness of the loss, but to be open to the freshness of looking forward to what’s coming next.
After some prayers and Tibetan chants, the Rinpoche, or head teacher, destroyed the mandala as soon as it was finished with one wave of his arm. Then his monks swept it up into a pile and placed it into an urn. This intricately designed and colorful art suddenly became just brown-gray dirt. Because part of the ritual includes disposing of the sand remains in a body of moving water, we caravanned to the river. I chose not to dwell in the melancholy sadness of loss but remain open to the mystery of what would be next.
At the river, the seven monks stood in a line at the water’s edge. They began their traditional chanting along with the deep sounds of the long Tibetan horns. They prepared to bless and infuse the water with the positive energies from the sacred sand. For them, the water symbolizes the home of all creatures and the origin of all life.
Amazing things began to happen. The little fish in the river who are usually so disinterested in anything other than their own swimming patterns, seemed to pause, line up to face the shore and stare at the monks.
Then with the crescendo of chants and horns blaring, four yellow butterflies went wild circling the monks. Finally, as the Rinpoche began to pour the sand into the river, a large dragonfly made his entrance parading in front of the monks. The day was alive with sun and clarity of air and sky, full of life-giving energy. All of us were blessed and I experienced the joy of being with what might be next. As beautiful as the mandala was, the release was in some ways even more beautiful.
In general, our Western culture doesn’t teach us how to understand and relate to impermanence. In our culture, when a loss occurs, we usually think that it shouldn’t have happened, that something is wrong with its happening. Whether the loss is a divorce, or the loss of a job, or a death, we question it. Friends are often surprised when someone gets a divorce and both spouses are much happier after their decision to split up. Clearly, change and loss are not necessarily negative.
Most of us are not very comfortable with change. We prefer stability. And when the life we know is swept away by illness or loss, we can feel adrift, confused, afraid, wanting to hold onto the life that’s no longer there. These feelings are often difficult to deal with.
What if we practiced “dying daily?” To die daily, we must first notice and accept the loss or change and then grieve what the loss or change means to us. Even a “happy” change, like moving from our present location to a new home, may present something we need to mourn and adjust to.
To die daily is to willingly let go of what no longer serves our expanding life. We have the ability to release on every level. On the physical level, we recycle clutter and old items from our environment and eliminate waste from our bodies. On the mental level, we release antiquated beliefs and limiting thoughts. On the behavioral level, we replace negative habits and patterns of behavior with more positive ones. As we release, we open to a new and healthier life. It is the practice of letting go, of surrendering to what is, of releasing the unnecessary, and worn-out, which brings rest and peace. It can be a practice, and a prescription for a fuller, freer life.
So, we can choose to die daily—noticing the loss, grieving it, asking for a new vision of larger meaning over all of it, and finally releasing it to the All. This practice grows us and provides us with a happier life. In dying daily, we become scrubbed clean of the past, opening ourselves to a boundless future. We overcome death by choosing to live.
Patricia Gulino Lansky is an engaging teacher, workshop and meditation retreat facilitator, inspirational speaker, and author of Accepting Death, Embracing Life: How Death Teaches Us to LIVE. Patricia began practicing macrobiotics in 1991, after a life-changing consultation with Lino Stanchich. She is a licensed clinical social worker and an ordained Unity minister. For nearly forty years, her professional role as both a therapist in private practice and a minister have given her the privilege of empowering others to move gracefully through their life transitions, including the death and dying process. Patricia retired as the co-minister of Unity of Charlottesville, VA in 2021 after twenty years of service. She lives in Charlottesville, Virginia with her husband, Don.
Accepting Death, Embracing Life: How Death Teaches Us to Live is available from our e-shop. Check it out here.
