Death

I remember asking my father what happens when you die.  I was six.

My father had a ready answer: "Nothing, William. When you die, it's all over."

I didn't like his reply, so hoping for something more cheerful, I asked,
"But will I be able to see?"

"No."

I remember at the time I was asking this question, I was imagining myself in a coffin filled with pitch black darkness. I persisted, "Will I be able to hear?"

Again, he said,  "No."

Frustrated now, I asked, "How long will it last?"

And the grim answer came, "Forever."

I could not wrap my mind around this "forever" concept. It was impossible, no matter how hard I tried.

My father was an atheist. Some years ago, I asked him what made him a believer. That confused him. He reminded me that he was not a believer, he was an atheist.

An atheist is one who believes there is no God. The key word, here is "believes."

He believes there is no God. Believing is not thinking objectively. There's no proof to belief. Belief by definition is acceptance of something without proof.

There's no way to prove or disprove the existence of God. Similarly, there's no way to prove what happens when you die. (Near-death experiences are not the real thing, and as far as I'm concerned, while interesting, they don't provide proof of anything.)

The question of death and the question of God are impossible questions (a term, I believe, coined by J. Krisnamurti); questions which cannot be answered with thought.

In any case, when people provide an "objective" answer or a conclusion to impossible questions, they are believing a lie.

Put simply, no thought or group of thoughts--indeed, no words--can ever be absolute truth.

Time is generated though thought. Thought can be a tool in the practical world, but it also provides such a limited perspective on reality, one can almost call it a lie.

Death is not limited by space or time; nor, presumably, is God. Therefore thought, which exists in time, can never answer the questions about that which transcends time.

A better, more honest answer to the question I asked when I was six would have been, "I don't know." Or, if he did know, "I cannot tell you in words. You'll have to experience it for yourself, but you'll never get a real answer by thinking about it."

Another approach is to think about impossible questions intensely, with tremendous energy and focus. That singularity of focus might lead to a very temporary obliteration of thought. Thought which is actually the only thing that stands between the illusion of "you" and the direct experience of truth. It's a really exhausting approach, however.

I find it easier to let thought be, without feeding it or giving it attention. Without believing it. It can be a shockingly unremarkable experience, because the mind tends to have expectations. It is still possible to let go of thought while having expectations, so long as you let go of them as well. Don't believe your thoughts and expectations--don't follow them anywhere. Don't fight them. Let them be. Let them go.

In that letting go lies the answer (in the form of experience, not words) to impossible questions such as, "what is death?"

The experience itself is death—death of the thought-born ego.

And it is this ego, this illusion of individuality and personality, this illusion of separateness, that we fear we will lose when we die.