TLDR: In the second part of our pilgrimage series, Tate Aung acquires a symbol, a wooden Buddha rupa. She experiences a pivotal moment of renunciation by giving away a prized possession, exemplifying the importance of relinquishing attachments for spiritual growth. Next, Angela Tan’s contemplation on death during a Ganges River cruise in Varanasi leads to profound insights on life’s impermanence and the cultivation of of virtues in pursuit of liberation.
Going on a pilgrimage often brings us to some unexpected realisations and experiences. In this second instalment of our three-part pilgrimage series, we delve into two reflections by two fellow pilgrims, Tate Aung and Angela Tan as they navigate the paths of renunciation (Nekkhamma) and death contemplation (Maranasati) amidst the sacred landscapes of India.
From the pursuit of generosity to contemplating life’s impermanence, their narratives offer some poignant insights into the essence of spiritual growth and the pursuit of enlightenment.
Nekkhamma by Tate Aung
In the serene setting of Rajgir, a town in the district of Nalanda in Bihar, India, I made a significant acquisition – a beautifully carved wooden rupa made of wood from the sacred Bodhi Tree.
This rupa of Lord Buddha in his most austere state of renunciation was to me a symbolic reminder of the suffering the Buddha felt, along with his unwavering determination on his path to enlightenment. Reflecting on my disposition, characterised by what I perceive as a lack of Viriya (effort) and a tendency to procrastinate, I had wanted to place this rupa in my home as a stark reminder to infuse more effort into both my spiritual practice and work life.
The journey of this rupa did not end with its purchase. I carried it to the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodhgaya, where it received blessings at the Buddha Metta statue.
It then further continued at the deer park in Sarnath where the Buddha first proclaimed the Dhamma to the world.
While our group circumambulated with the rupa around the stupa (commemorative monument)at the deer park, the recited teachings of the Dhammacakkhapavathana Sutta and the Anatta-lakhana Sutta from ~2500 years ago echoed in the air. I would think that layers of blessings were bestowed upon the wooden rupa.
I had brought along another rupa on the trip to the deer park to offer to Kruba Joe, a monk accompanying us on this pilgrimage. However, while everyone was meditating, I became quite distracted and was in a deep dilemma on what to do when I saw that the rupa intended for Kruba Joe had a small crack at the back.
As good as my intention was to give it away, I could not unsee the crack on the rupa’s back and thought how “less-than-beautiful” it was when compared to the other rupas gifted to the other monks who were around.
Right then, I recalled the goodness of my dear kalyāṇa-mitta(spiritual friend), Kaylee, who previously gave a singing bowl to Phra Danny (despite her initial desire to keep it for herself…)
Inspired by her example, I too decided to give away the “ultra-blessed” Austere Buddha rupa intended for myself to Kruba Joe. Honest to Buddha, the Austere Buddha rupa not only had very good craftsmanship but also cost twice as much, hence I did feel the pinch and was quite unwilling to part with the rupa, and more so, the blessings associated with the rupa.
Oftentimes, most of us only give away things we don’t need, and things we don’t find difficult to give away.
You could say that I was delighting in the pleasant sense-object like the rupa, and growing a dangerous attachment to it that could cause me some suffering over it in the future.
Hence, the act of giving away a prized possession became an expression of renunciation, serving as a reminder to not only give away what is easy but to part with what is most difficult (which includes renouncing our defilements).
On the topic of renouncing our defilements, while I was at Rajkir, Bihar (prior to reaching Uttar Pradesh), I had indicated to my dear kalyāṇa-mittas(spiritual friends) that yes, I would be taking the Eight Precepts, and hence would not be eating after 12:30pm.
Yet, the allure of an exquisite buffet upon arrival at our hotel in Uttar Pradesh tested my commitment. Succumbing to temptation, I found myself on the brink of breaking my precepts during this pilgrimage. In a moment of intervention, a wise kalyāṇa-mitta, Heng Xuan, gently told me off by mentioning that “..breaking your precepts is very bad kamma…. you said you were going to take 8 precepts”. He also said something along the lines that it was bad for my “Sacca Parami” (transcendent virtue of truthfulness) too.
That stopped me in my tracks.
This timely piece of advice halted my wavering, and I chose to recommit to the precepts, a decision we celebrated as a team, captured in a joyful photo with the entire DAYWA group observing the eighth precept successfully.
The conscious and intentional act of stepping away from temptations which lead us astray from our commitments is a powerful act of renunciation.
Pana time for eight preceptors
In essence, this entire pilgrimage served as a powerful reminder that every action we undertake is a fuel for our Parami (Virtues). The habit to renounce not just material possessions but also our inner defilements, such as tanha (craving), becomes crucial in propelling us forward on the raft towards the shores of Nibbana.
Maranasati (death contemplation) by Angela Tan
Witnessing the four sights of ageing, sickness, death and an ascetic, the Buddha sought a way out of suffering. On this pilgrimage, the sight of death (through viewing cremations happening right before our eyes) was a particularly impactful one.
Burning Ghats
After days of meditation and visiting holy sites, we were treated to a cultural experience; a cruise on the Ganges – one of the most sacred rivers in the world.
Prior to boarding the Ganges cruise, we learnt that some Hindus believe that people who die in the city of Varanasi can achieve moksha (liberation). As part of their death rituals, some Hindus cremate their deceased relatives at a famous ghat (defined as: a level place on the edge of a river where Hindus cremate their dead.) Then, their ashes are put into the Ganges river where some Hindus believe that the deceased can reunite with their god Shiva.
As we boarded the cruise and headed for the famous cremation ghat, I could not help but anticipate sadness. I carried with me some preconceived notions of death – in Chinese culture, death rituals are often associated with a sombre sense of loss and heavy feelings.
Upon disembarking near the cremation ground, my eyes were indeed filled with tears – from the fumes of five recently deceased bodies burning all at once! When my watery eyes cleared, I saw family members of the deceased surrounding the fire, looking at ease with where they were and what they were doing. It was nothing like what I expected. There were no tears, no wailing, an absence of distress.
On the contrary, there was a sense of acceptance. And I was not the only one who felt this. Later on the way back to our evening rest, other pilgrims shared the same sentiments too. Death, to the Hindus, is a natural part of life. This is part of the notion of “Right View” expounded by the Buddha.
This experience led me to reflect that no matter your situation, whether you are rich or poor, happy or upset, sick or healthy, death is inevitable. It is a short sprint between life and death.
What matters most is to continually do good, give generously, learn earnestly, forgive steadfastly and patiently cultivate.
The next day, contemplating this experience about death allowed me to have a joyful meditation session. I was able to disengage from my ever-planning mind and enjoy the present moment, one breath at a time. Having returned from the pilgrimage, I continue to practise death contemplation whenever I walk past funeral services.
Conclusion
As we draw the curtain on this chapter of contemplation and revelation, both Tate’s and Angela’s stories shed light on the intricate journey of spiritual growth while seeking enlightenment. From Tate’s journey of renunciation, marked by the relinquishment of material attachments to Angela’s profound contemplation on death and impermanence, their encounters remind us of the transient nature of existence and the urgency to cultivate good virtues that aid us to liberation.
May their insights inspire us to be more determined in our spiritual practices, guided by the light of wisdom and the aspiration for Ultimate Happiness and freedom.
Wise Steps:
1. Reflect on material (or mental) attachments: Take time to identify attachments to material objects and contemplate the possibility of letting them go for a better cause, understanding that renunciation can lead to spiritual growth and a lessening of our attachments . The same could apply to our mental attachments – to objects, experiences, views and perspectives.
2.Embrace impermanence (anicca): Contemplate on death regularly to cultivate our acceptance of life’s transient nature and prioritise actions that contribute to spiritual development and well-being. Regular reminders on impermanence also provide us with a sense of urgency to practice.
TLDR: Grief is a challenging process, especially after the death of a loved one. But we can draw inspiration from the teachings of the Buddha, especially about the Four Immeasurables—the cultivation of loving-kindness, compassion, appreciative joy, and equanimity—to work through difficult emotions, counter cognitive distortions, and develop a deeper relationship with our grief over the long term.
View outside the hospital room—there’s always light at the end of the tunnel (September 2023)
When was the last time you talked honestly and openly about grief and death? For many, coping with the death of a loved one can be difficult and painful. In the Singaporean or Asian context, death is often also regarded as taboo, spoken about only in hushed tones, and consigned to the corners of our lives.
Often, we just can’t, or don’t know how to, or simply don’t wish to confront it, because it’s just too unpleasant to contemplate.
But it’s precisely because grief and death are hard to talk about, that we need to offer it our deep attention and understanding. In the Upajjhatthana Sutta (AN 5.57), the Buddha describes the Five Remembrances, which are recommended for frequent recollection. These facts of life include the truth that we cannot avoid death, and one day we will be separated and parted from all that is dear and beloved to us.
My personal experience of such loss was my father’s struggle with cancer and subsequent passing. In May last year, he collapsed suddenly at home, and had to be rushed by ambulance to hospital.
At the time, his condition was still unknown, so multiple tests had to be conducted on him while he was still in the high-dependency ward. It was only months later, in August, that he was diagnosed with end-stage bile duct cancer, and it was more severe than anticipated. The doctors estimated that he had only around four weeks left to live (and they would turn out to be right – he had five weeks).
Those final few weeks of my father’s life were a difficult time for me and my family, especially my mother and sister. Every day involved a routine of shuttling between our workplaces, hospital, and home, as hospital visits became a regular part of our lives, and we would take turns to keep my father company. Amidst the sterile smell of antiseptic solution and the periodic beeping of the machines, the constant hum of activity was overwhelming.
I remember navigating a complex web of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on me during those days spent by his side. I often questioned myself whether I had done enough, and if I could have done more as a son.
I thought about all the times when my Dad suggested going for overseas trips as a family, like to the Great Wall in Beijing—but I always said I could never find the time. The painful reality was that I had prioritised other aspects of life, like my work, above family time.
Now it would be too late. I’m reminded about how it’s been said that the four saddest words in the English language are “it could have been”.
But instead of wallowing in guilt and despair, what if we viewed death and grief as valuable opportunities for deeper reflection and personal transformation? After all, over the last few weeks of my father’s life, my family and I had some of our deepest conversations with him—about his memories, our family history, and about the meaning of life and death itself. Amidst the darkness, glimmers of light can still shine through—even in the face of loss, there is still room for shared connection and precious moments of joy.
One way of understanding death and grief is through the Four Immeasurables, or Brahmavihārās. Described by the late Buddhist teacher Ayya Khema as “the only emotions worth having”, the Four Immeasurables offer us a helpful framework to practise developing positive mind states and avoid negative ones.
By cultivating the Four Immeasurables, we can emulate the mind states of enlightened beings, while sowing the seeds of limitless (and hence ‘immeasurable’) goodwill towards ourselves and others.
Metta: Loving-Kindness
The word ‘loving-kindness’ is interesting. The first half is ‘loving’—and as the late Queen Elizabeth II famously said, grief is the price we pay for love.
In other words, grief is the natural extension of love, because they are inherently intertwined. Grief reveals itself in the corridors of the pathways we once walked together with our deceased loved ones, in the empty spaces of rooms where they once lived and laughed, and even in the scent of their belongings—like the old books that my father once owned.
Since love entails grief, should we just love less, or even give up on love? Clearly, that’s a misconception, or what psychology would refer to as a cognitive distortion.
The second half of the word ‘loving-kindness’ holds the clue as to why. The key lies in how we love—when we dwell less on our attachment to our loved ones, we can devote more attention to answering their needs more effectively, and express a deeper level of kindness towards them. The practice of metta itself can inspire such kindness and generosity. As the writer Leo Tolstoy put it, “Kindness enriches our life; with kindness, mysterious things become clear, difficult things become easy, and dull things become cheerful.”
We can show metta to our loved ones in simple ways, even just by spending quality time with them. For instance, I would ask Dad during my visits what he would like to eat, but he had no appetite, and often he felt nauseous.
He also mentioned he felt cold at night so I brought him a quilt with a sign reading “My Dad”, even though the hospital provided plenty of blankets. To keep my father focused on positive thoughts, my sister and I asked him about his childhood memories, his life as a teacher, his growing-up years, how he met our mother, and what it was like bringing us up.
Every day felt like Tuesdays with Morrie, the 1997 memoir by Mitch Albom about his visits to his terminally ill former college professor. As the poet Philip Larkin once put it: “We should be kind / While there is still time.”
The quilt for my Dad (May 2023)
Just as Dad used to recite lines of poetry to me as a child, so I read and recited poems to him at his bedside as well, such as the poem ‘Invictus’—which is about resilience in the face of adversity. I also shared stories from the newspapers with him.
At the time, the Singapore presidential elections were ongoing, so I would update him about it too. With my dad, I learnt the value of cherishing every moment with loving-kindness.
Karuna: Compassion
Another valuable mind-state is karuna, or compassion. It’s not about feeling sorry for our loved ones, but about feeling with them, and journeying alongside them for as long as we can.
This journey can be difficult, which entails recognising suffering as an inevitable part of life, and often also fosters a deeper sense of compassion towards others who are also suffering or grieving. We are not alone in our pain.
My dad’s struggle with terminal cancer was undoubtedly painful. Each day, as I pored through the lists displayed by the hospital staff describing pumps, tubes, vials, injections, pills, and wipes, I couldn’t help but think about mortality, vulnerability, and frailty — in the end, it all came down to this.
It was the first Noble Truth staring at me in the face. The fear and uncertainty that accompanied such terminal illness were paralysing. Every morning, I would wonder whether the doctors would bring worse news, or if that very day might be my dad’s last.
Dying people also sometimes make strange sounds—in my father’s case, especially towards the last few days, it was a kind of dry gasping and rasping. I remember one particular night when the pain from the cancer was particularly unbearable, and his face would be contorted with grimaces of pain.
Witnessing someone you love endure such physical suffering is heart-wrenching, to say the least, and it leaves an indelible mark of sorrow.
But this is when the Dharma provides the timeliest of medicines. By acknowledging suffering rather than pushing it away, we can discover a wellspring of strength within ourselves. After the hospital administered painkillers for my father each day, my family and I would also chant at his bedside, including the name of Amitabha Buddha (Namo Amituofo), mantras (like om mani padme hum), and the Heart Sutra (Xin Jing, also known as the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra). As we dedicated the merits of such recitations to him, he would noticeably breathe more easily and sleep more peacefully.
As a friend advised—and as medical professionals also affirm—the sense of touch is usually one of the last faculties to go. As my father drifted off to sleep each evening, I would often hold his hand, providing not just physical but also emotional and spiritual warmth.
A loving touch, fuelled by tenderness, offers not just a sense of connection but also serves as a balm from pain.
Besides showing compassion towards our loved ones and others, we mustn’t forget to be compassionate to ourselves too. Caregiver burnout is a real danger, and it’s crucial to remember that while we may feel consumed by grief, we must also prioritise our own well-being.
The Buddhist teacher Mushim Patricia Ikeda has formulated a “Great Vow for Mindful Activists”: “I promise, for the benefit of all, to practice self-care, mindfulness, healing, and joy. I vow to not burn out.” Taking time for ourselves is not selfish but necessary for healing. Whether it’s seeking support from friends and family, or engaging in activities that bring us joy, self-care allows us to replenish our energy and find solace amidst sorrow.
Mudita: Appreciative Joy
Losing a loved one is a painful experience. Losing a parent, in particular, brings an added dimension of loss: their departure represents the closing of a chapter in our lives. Parents are usually the source of guidance and support for us—their presence symbolises a sense of stability, security, and belonging.
With their passing, we may feel lost, unmoored, and unanchored, with all the childhood memories and family traditions associated with them also threatened by loss.
But what if we transformed this mindset of feeling fearful and threatened into a more positive mind state of being grateful and appreciative? Mudita, or appreciative joy, reminds us that we can choose to focus not on fear or regret but rather on existing opportunities for gratitude.
I’m reminded of Ajahn Brahm’s oft-shared story in Opening the Door of Your Heart about how a life is like a musical concert—we should applaud at the end rather than grieving that it has concluded.
In the case of my father, I was deeply inspired by his sheer emotional strength. Despite everything he went through—treatments, operations, and long hospital stays—he never allowed himself to become consumed by despair.
He demonstrated what true grit looks like, and he imparted valuable lessons about finding strength within ourselves during life’s most challenging moments.
Devoting time to cultivate appreciative joy can be deeply cathartic. On the afternoon of my father’s passing, my family and I had a “Showers of Love” ceremony, during which we had the opportunity to clean and dress my Dad’s body for the last time. It was like a sacrament and a blessing—a final act of service to convey our gratitude to him, and bid him farewell.
Together with my mother and sister, we helped my Dad to put on his favourite suit before we laid him in the casket.
As I said in my eulogy for him at the crematorium, it’s just like the words of Shakespeare—“the wheel is come full circle”. The whole service was personal, heartfelt, and deeply meaningful.
Dad also specifically said to thank the medical team at National University Hospital who supported us closely over those final few months. That’s exactly what my family and I did: we personally delivered appreciation cards and a gift basket to the hospital staff.
Writing a long appreciation email to them was also a way to pay tribute to their dedication and support. In addition, we put up a five-star Google review for the funeral company (The Life Celebrant), as they bestowed a meaningful and dignified farewell for my father. Such gestures not only honoured my Dad’s wishes, but also cultivated appreciative joy for all who helped to support him during the challenging period of his final days.
The garden at the hospital (May 2023)
Upekkha: Equanimity
Grief and death can offer valuable lessons about the nature of life itself. Developing upekkha, or equanimity, can help us to find peace and cultivate gratitude for the present moment. My father’s experience showed me that accepting impermanence doesn’t mean giving up hope or resigning oneself to despair.
Rather, it means acknowledging reality while still nurturing a firm optimism and resilience that can inspire others.
By embracing impermanence, we can cultivate a deeper appreciation for the preciousness of life, especially of a life in which we have the opportunity to encounter the Dharma. We learn to cherish every interaction, every smile shared with our loved ones, and the beauty of every fleeting moment, precisely because we understand that “all conditioned phenomena are impermanent” (Dhammapada, verse 277).
I’m reminded of a talk, years ago when I was an undergraduate, given by a medical doctor who was a featured speaker during the Dharma Camp organised by the National University of Singapore (NUS) Buddhist Society.
As he observed, when we die, we usually don’t die all at once—instead, we die in bits and pieces. The eyes or other faculties might first weaken, and then the major organs go one by one, until finally, it’s the heart or lungs that cease to function, and then breathing itself gives way.
The piecemeal nature of the dying process prompts the question: where is the self? However hard we might try to locate or isolate this aspect of ‘me’ or ‘mine’, we find that the self ultimately dissolves.
There’s no solid or stable self that can persist or endure no matter how hard we attempt to grasp it.
Similarly, the Soto Zen priest Tenku Ruff describes grief not as a thing in itself but as a process or continuum that unfolds at a pace of its own. There is no single right way to grieve. We can give ourselves permission to experience our grief without judgment or self-criticism.
Based on our respective situations, we can find out for ourselves what works best, such that we can hold space for healing and honour the memory of our loved ones.
Rituals can be particularly helpful to cope with grief. In the Chinese Buddhist tradition that my family and I practise, we chanted sutras and mantras, and dedicated merits to my father every seven days, starting from the day of his passing.
We also commemorated the 100th day since his death, which happened to fall exactly on 1 January this year. It was a touching tribute that allowed me and the family to process our own emotions while paying homage to my Dad’s legacy.
As the palliative care physician Ira Byock suggested in Dying Well, the suffering of dying can be alleviated through deathbed rituals that are designed to promote forgiveness. The dying can be encouraged to engage in the following five steps, summarised as: “Forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. And goodbye.”
Imagine if we don’t have to be on our deathbeds before we engage in such rituals. What the Dharma teaches us is how to attend to our grief, just as we can be mindful of our breath during sitting meditation. Instead of resisting our feelings, we can pay attention to our sorrow, loneliness, and the whole myriad of complex human emotions that arise from the experience of loss. We can observe these feelings with kindness and wisdom, before we open our hearts, and let them go.
I’m sure my Dad would have approved.
Wise Steps:
Treasure precious opportunities to connect with our loved ones while they are still around, especially by spending quality time with them.
Engage in meaningful rituals with the right intention, whether in terms of deathbed rituals that promote forgiveness, or chanting practices that can help to dedicate merits to our departed loved ones.
Practise mindfulness, including of our own grief, and seek support from friends or family who can provide support and guidance when navigating through difficult emotions.
May you rejoice in the merits of this Dhamma contribution and be well and happy wherever you go.
TLDR: Joey shares her emotional journey following the sudden loss of a lifelong friend to cancer, leading her to embrace the power of gratitude and find deeper meaning in life.
The Shocking Diagnosis
“Bad news, it’s a mass. Need to do biopsy now to check.”
It was a Whatsapp message from you. My mind went blank. I resisted the urge to Google “mass in lungs diagnosis.” I did not want my imagination to run wild.
After enduring a prolonged cough and episodes of breathlessness that persisted despite visits to several GPs, you went for a specialist check-up at a hospital and were admitted immediately.
A friendship that withstood time
I have known you since Secondary 1. Although we were not in the same class, we were batchmates in Girl Guides and our friendship blossomed. Over the next 25 years, we journeyed together through important milestones of our teenage years. Coming from dysfunctional families, we became each other’s confidantes and support when stressful incidents at home were too overwhelming.
I could not recall the exact number of through-the-night phone calls, late-night hangouts, or sleepovers we had. We sang, chatted, and watched TV, and only went home when the storms had fully subsided.
“I’m really very scared. My girl is still so young.”
This was your subsequent message before I could draft a comforting reply to your previous one.
Journeying through life’s milestones together
As we stepped into adulthood and got swept up in our careers, we did not meet as often. But we witnessed each other through major life events, celebrating our joyful moments and exchanging encouragements during challenging times — landing dream jobs, bad bosses, heartbreaks, death in the family, getting married, securing our BTO, and becoming mothers.
Our friendship had only strengthened with time, expanding to include our families. There is something magical about watching our kids play together. I fondly reminisced about the fun times we had during our youthful days.
I once told you that I hoped we would still meet up regularly for tea in our golden years to complain about our husbands, children, and perhaps grandchildren.
You said you imagined it would be hard to hold your tears in on your daughter’s wedding day.
Confronting the Unthinkable
“Likely is stage 4. I need to do chemo”
My heart sank. Thousands of thoughts ran through my mind. “But we are only 37. What about her girl? She is only 6. What is the prognosis? This is too sudden. This can’t be happening. Am I dreaming?”
“Thanks for watching over my child and family. Love you girls,” was your last message to me.
Over the next week, I watched you deteriorate rapidly, confined to the ICU, unable to talk or eat, and remaining sedated as cancer ravaged your lungs, stomach, and brain.
I always believed that you would overcome this, that you could return home and recover. I knew that you were strong-willed and you did your best. But health is beyond our control.
You left us one month after your stage-4 lung cancer diagnosis. It was too sudden, too unexpected, and too tough for me to accept.
Everything feels surreal. Seeing you lifeless on a hospital bed, surrounded by those closest to you. Your funeral. Your cremation. It’s like a bad dream unfolding, and I’m powerless to stop, wake up, and find relief in the realisation that it was only a dream.
Life, Death, and Illusions
Death is the one life event that will happen to us with 100% certainty. However, it remains an abstract concept for many. Why is that so?
Our brains are great illusionists, often failing to let us perceive the true nature of reality.
The human brain is programmed to draw from our lived experiences to create a neural map of our lives, incorporating relationships with people, places, things, routines, habits, and expectations.
It is a mechanism to help the brain “save computing power”, enabling us to make sense of and predict what is happening moment by moment. The possibility of your death was nowhere in my neural map; my brain needed time to assimilate this fact and rewrite its algorithm to navigate this world without your presence.
I hope that after my brain has integrated the code “death of a loved one”, I will gain a little more wisdom to be closer to ultimate reality.
However, the way our brain is wired prevents us from seeing things as they truly are.
It tends to gather information through our five senses, making false assumptions and setting unreal expectations about how events should unfold or how our relationships with others should be. It likes to take shortcuts to conserve energy, clinging to an old mindset or defaulting to comfortable habits and routines.
Our brains want to exist in a predictable, permanent, and lasting world.
And so, we grasp, we chase, and we shun.
Seeking Meaning in the Midst of Loss
We pursue the next high-paying job, promotion, or the latest flashy phone, car, or house. We take for granted that our family and friends will always be there. We avoid discussing illness and death because we cannot imagine a future where either we or our loved ones will be gone.
Your death has prompted me to reflect on what makes life meaningful and where my priorities should lie.
If we want to have a better life with fewer regrets and more joy, we need to rely on the Dharma to overwrite the faulty algorithms in our brains.
The first week after I lost you was excruciatingly painful.
My mind struggled to accept that you would be forever absent from my future. I believed we would have many more chances to continue our yearly tradition of surprising each other with birthday gifts and treats.
Now that you are gone, I wonder: do you know how much I love and cherish our friendship? I was engulfed by overwhelming loss and sorrow. Soon, this morphed into a feeling of unfairness. The cancer had stolen my best friend, robbing all hopes, possibilities, and dreams of watching the kids grow up as we grow old together.
“Grief is love with no place to go” – is a popular quote to describe grief.
As time passed, grief silently reshaped itself within the contours of my daily life. I found this quote untrue. While life comes to an end, love lives on. The love and connection we share live on within us. It endures even after death.
With your passing, our friendship has transcended beyond the physical dimension of space and time, transforming into a spiritual relationship. You remain my best friend in this lifetime. I express my love through internal dialogues with you, often wondering about your journey in the next life and dedicating prayers, well-wishes, and merits to you.
In our physical world, where most relationships are transactional, our understanding of love can be restricted. Our expressions of love are sometimes limited to tangibles such as gifts, time, and physical touch.
The Buddha taught us about love and compassion, which is the wish for sentient beings to be free from suffering and attain happiness. A concept that is easy to grasp but difficult to embrace. If we ponder closely, love and compassion are a spiritual state of mind more than they are physical actions.
“The space is boundless,
So does your compassion.
You wish to be all living beings’ bridge [to the other shore],
It was 4 am and I lost sleep. It was the first night after your passing. You were such a devoted mother, dutiful wife, responsible worker, and one of the kindest friends I ever had.
Why did this have to happen? I have always believed that every significant person and event in our lives is there to teach us important lessons.
Yet losing you so suddenly to cancer seems senseless. We did not even get to say a proper goodbye. I kept questioning myself repeatedly: what was the lesson I needed to learn? I just could not fathom it.
We had been a part of each other’s life for 25 years and remained so close. It felt like a beautiful story which needed to end abruptly and the author struggled to write a conclusion to make it a meaningful read.
As I lay in bed, a deep sorrow gripped my heart tightly. The intense pain in my chest grew every minute, making it hard to breathe. It was too unbearable.
At the next moment, I felt love surrounding me and then enveloping me. It was a peaceful and kind energy that wrapped around me, consoling me with its warm presence, telling me that it knows my pain and suffering. That this too shall pass.
Gradually, the tightness in my chest subsided. I felt lighter. Tears flowed freely, and gratitude surged through every cell in my body. I was certain it was you. I finally knew what the lesson was.
It was friendship.
Appreciating Life’s Beauty & Moments
Through you, I learned what makes a good friend and how to be one. Our precious and beautiful friendship had enriched my life and for that, I am immensely grateful to you.
Over the next few weeks, this gratitude took root and grew. Alongside grief, I experienced a renewed sense of appreciation for events, objects, and people in life.
Saudadeis a Portuguese word that describes a longing for something that has been loved and lost, yet it also captures a sense of joy for having been loved and lost. This “joyful sadness” described my feelings perfectly.
Allow saudade to sit and experiencing it fully within me has given me insights into life.
Life’s meaning is not something to be found; it is created moment by moment in our everyday lives, and gratitude fuels it best.
Gratitude as a Way of Life
Gratitude gifted me with fresh eyes to perceive the beauty and qualities in objects, people, or moments. It helps me to slow down, be present, and be thankful for the good and bad that enter my life.
Gratitude makes the most routine, mundane, or dreadful tasks meaningful. While waiting patiently for my morning coffee, I silently expressed thanks for all the elements that made it possible for me to enjoy my drink. Not taking things for granted makes my life more vivid, rich, and meaningful. My coffee tastes much better now.
Perhaps if we consider gratitude as a way of life more than just a feeling or mental state, our lives will have more bliss, peace, and meaning.
In gratitude, I see you. In gratitude, I see our interconnectedness. In gratitude, I see the Dharma.
Wise Steps:
The love and connection with our departed loved ones transcend physical existence and transform into a spiritual relationship. We can dedicate merits and well-wishes to benefit them in their next life which helps us find solace in grief.
Our brains are masters in creating illusions which obstruct our perception of reality’s transient and ever-evolving nature. By embracing self-awareness and applying the teachings of the Dharma, we can reduce regret and cultivate greater happiness.
Gratitude is a powerful tool for healing. It can help us find a renewed sense of purpose and appreciation for life even during the toughest times.
TLDR: The day that we lie dying, would we say that we have lived well? In the pursuit of a meaningful life, Buddhist Scholar Sylvia Bay shares insights on cultivating positive relationships, embracing Dhamma growth, and dedicated service to a greater cause.
Everything we value will end
When impermanence is such a central feature of reality, what is the meaning of life? We are born, go through life’s milestones, and at some indeterminate point, we die.
Everything that we “value”, our hopes and dreams, achievements and accolades will end with that.
If we believe in rebirth, we expect the same grind to start all over again. Living seems like a fruitless and endless pursuit. Nonetheless, the fact is we are alive. We can whine about its meaninglessness or we can try and make this one count.
While we are very different in physical and psychological make-up, oddly, our perception about a meaningful life is fundamentally not very different.
Most of us would agree that a life filled with pain, anger, agitation, worries, unfulfilled yearnings and loneliness seems pointless.
The only possible exception to that is if we perceive that our personal happiness is sacrificed at the altar of a higher calling such as for the country, people, god (generically) or ideals (such as democracy, liberty, freedom, justice and so on).
So the measure of life’s meaningfulness has two components: psychological-emotional mental state (happy or sad, pleasure or pain) and mind-made construct of value.
Hence, the regular person will find his life meaningful if he is serving a cause that he deeply believes in and derives powerful positive emotions from it. For me, meaning in life is found in the following three areas: having positive relationships, growing in the Dhamma and in service of Dhamma.
Relationships
It is hard to be happy if we are in conflict, especially with the people closest to us, such as parents, children, spouse, good friends and so on. Why do relationships go so wrong?
A large part of the problem lies in our attitude. We often approach relationships from a singularly self-centred perspective: my expectations, desires, interests and feelings.
We expect unconditional love, consideration and respect from the people we care about.
We expect that they will be understanding and do the necessary to placate our moods. Yet, we don’t always extend the same courtesy to them. Instead, how we treat them is often dictated by fickle and fleeting feelings.
We are nice and helpful when we feel good and snappy and hurtful when we are upset.
The Buddha’s teaching on managing relationships starts from a very different perspective. In the Sigalovada sutta,[1] Buddha taught that we should have a wholesome attitude in our relationships. We take the initiative to give love, care, consideration, respect, and so on without expecting reciprocity.
We do our duties conscientiously and look after the people around us, to give them peace and comfort.
We are a dutiful and grateful child, a loving and supportive spouse, a wise and caring parent and a loyal and fair friend, because that matters to them. To the wider world, have metta and compassion, graciousness and generosity. And the list goes on.
It may seem daunting, but actually, it is rather straightforward. Just treat others as we wish to be treated. We want to be treated with respect, courtesy, fairness and kindness.
So, do that for another. We don’t want to be at the receiving end of cruel words and actions, slanderous gossip and criticisms, so don’t do that to another.
If we dislike being taken for granted, others will also resent that. If we are mindful of the empathy principle, we should be able to nurture healthy, rewarding and fulfilling relationships, and be a source of joy and comfort for the world.
Growing in the Dhamma
Many of us in lay life are fixated about earning a living and creating financial security. While that is pragmatic because we and our loved ones “must eat”, it should not be our exclusive focus.
Because ultimately, material wealth and worldly success are impermanent. Surely, we don’t want to put all our proverbial eggs in the worldly basket and then have to leave them all behind when death strikes?
We most definitely cannot assume that we will always make it back to a human birth and have another shot at Dhamma cultivation. Therefore, we should not waste this particular existence, especially since the right conditions for practice are already there.
A mistake we often make is to assume that spirituality and the worldly life must necessarily be mutually exclusive. It need not be so.
I would like to highlight two suttas where Buddha had explained that a complete and meaningful life is one that strikes the right balance between worldly success and spiritual fulfillment. They are the Vyagghapajja sutta (also known as Dighajanu) and theMangala sutta.
In the Vyagghapajja sutta, Buddha taught a lay person, Dighajanu, what he must do to have a satisfying lay life where he could continue to enjoy sensual pleasures, while assuring himself of happy future births. For worldly success and happiness, Buddha advised Dighajanu to strive and excel in his work, to be vigilant in protecting his assets, to live comfortably within his means and to keep good and wholesome friends.[2]
For more sustainable happiness that extends to future lives, Dighajanu must cultivate spiritual faith, uphold morality, be generous and develop wisdom.
For a Buddhist, spiritual faith means being confident that Buddha was indeed enlightened, the Dhamma is effective in restoring mental health and reducing pain and suffering, and the Sangha are the physical embodiment of a practice that delivers unconditioned bliss.
Faith motivates us to lead a virtuous life that is harmless and beneficial to others. We learn to tame greed and anger and gradually overcome ignorance and delusion. Generosity means being able to set aside our desires and preferences for the welfare and benefit of others.
Wisdom means seeing and understanding impermanence of reality for what it is and learning to moderate our cravings so as to be able to experience some joy and peace in daily living.
In the Mangala sutta,[3] Buddha showed how a life is fortunate, complete and worthwhile when it successfully balances the worldly demands with spiritual insights. The successful lay man knows how to keep wise company, and to exploit whatever advantages he had in pursuit of his goals, including tapping on favourable environmental conditions, past merits, worldly knowledge and professional skills.
He must fulfill his responsibilities and obligations to his loved ones and be a decent, upright man who is respected by society for his generosity and virtues. But even as he juggles worldly demands, he must make time for the Dhamma.
Be conscientious in listening to the teachings. Approach sangha practitioners to clarify his understanding. Incorporate the teaching and practice into his daily life. With correct understanding, he learns to be content with little, to keep his mind pure, and to tame the thinking habit.
When the mental conditions are right and in place, he will gradually gain an intuitive insight into the noble truths, sees the Dhamma and eventually understands the mind’s true nature.
He will live the rest of this life happier, more at peace and more content. While he can still be caught up in the occasional emotional ups and downs, his is a more sedate version from that which plagues the rest of the world.
If he does not realise nibbana in this life, he would be reborn at most seven more times and never lower than a human birth. At whatever distant point when the mental conditions are aligned, he will realise nibbana.
Most of us assume that stream entry is impossible for us, at least not in this lifetime. We offer all kinds of reasons: we are not morally good enough, not smart or wise enough, too ignorant, too busy, too old, too young and so on.
The canonical text is peppered with numerous stories of stream-enterers who were just common people: successful businessmen, frazzled housewives, bored and restless youths, jaded elderly men, and less common ones including a courtesan, some hunters, a king, a general and some ministers.
Some may say that those ancient stream-enterers succeeded because of Buddha’s personal guidance and may even add that without Buddha’s help, entering stream is impossible. This is a dreadfully misguided view. At his deathbed, Buddha told Subhadda, the last ascetic he personally ordained, that as long as there is the eightfold path, there would be people who could realise Dhamma.[5] So who do we believe? Conventional hearsay or Buddha? I choose the latter. Entering the Dhamma stream may not be easy, but not impossible. Buddha may be gone but Dhamma and Sangha are still here and thriving.
Servicing Dhamma
Despite our regular innate self-serving instincts, there is a part in us that is drawn towards altruistic service. The idea of volunteering wholly for the benefit of the wider community, without expectations, is oddly pleasing and satisfying.
I am personally drawn towards Dhamma propagation. To me, Dhamma is invaluable because it helps restore mental health and well-being to anyone who understands and incorporates the teaching into their daily life.
Dhamma is timeless: long after we are gone and our bodies grounded into ashes and dusts, Dhamma will continue to bring immeasurable and unconditioned bliss to the faithful practitioners.
It has been over 2500 years since Buddha was gone:yet his work continues to alleviate the mental suffering of countless beings. What service can be more meaningful than that?
For those inspired to serve, consider playing to your strength. Offer your professional skills and technical knowledge in support of Dhamma propagation. While teaching or sharing Dhamma seems an obvious answer, there are actually much more that could be done.
For instance, design webpages for uploading Dhamma knowledge. Contribute to Dhamma publications: write, edit or proofread articles. Manage Buddhist organisations or activities. Provide legal expertise. Handle the accounts. And so on and so forth.
Be a part of the effort to make Dhamma available to other seekers. We are all beneficiaries of Dhamma practitioners and propagators who had come before us.
Because of their proselytising efforts, we know where to go and whom to seek out to learn Dhamma. It is our duty to continue their work of preserving this ancient knowledge and passing it on to future generations.
Dying with no regrets
We do not know if death will come knocking tomorrow. But when it does, what would your last words be and would there be regrets? Spare a moment to reflect on this.
The day that we lie dying, would we say that we have lived well? That we have loved and are loved? That we have learnt much and matured into a wiser, kinder and happier person? And that we are leaving this world a better place than the one we found?
If your answers are an unequivocal yes, the odds are you have found your meaning in life and are at heart, content and at peace.
Wise Steps:
Strengthen relationships by adopting a wholesome attitude, giving love and care without expecting anything in return, and aligning with the Buddha’s teachings.
Achieve a balanced life by integrating worldly success with spiritual growth, drawing inspiration from the Vyagghapajja sutta’s principles.
Contribute to Dhamma propagation by leveraging professional skills, ensuring the preservation and passing on of ancient knowledge for future generations.
References
[1]See Walshe, Maurice. “Sigalaka Sutta: To Sigalaka, Advice to Lay People” D 31 in Thus Have I Hear: The Long Discourses of the Buddha, Translated from the Pali, London: Wisdom Publications, 1987, pp. 460-469.
[2]Bodhi, Bhikkhu. “Dighajanu” A 8:54(4) in The Numerical Discourses of the Buddha, A Translation of the Aṅguttara Nikāya: Translated from the Pāli. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2012, pp. 1173-1175.
[3] Bodhi, Bhikkhu, “Blessing” SN 2:4 in The Suttanipāta: An Ancient Collection of the Buddha’s Discourses Together with its Commentaries, Translated from the Pali, Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2017, pp. 199-200. Traditionally, the Mangala Sutta is taught as “38” types of blessings which are essentially conditions for one’s growth, success and happiness. That is one way to look at it. Another way is to take each stanza as a self-contained advice and collectively, the 11 stanzas would seem to paint a full, complete and meaningful life.
[4] This means becoming a sotapanna or stream-enterer, which is the first of four stages of sainthood taught in the Pali Canon.[5]See Walshe, “Mahaparinibbana Sutta: The Buddha’s Last Days” D 16, op. cit., pp. 268.
TLDR: A friendship of different faiths, a journey of letting go: Read about the power of Dhamma in guiding a dear friend’s peaceful passage.
The Diagnosis
A dear friend of mine, whom I had known for seven years, was diagnosed with a rare form of lymphoma that did not respond to any medical treatment. Our friendship was unique, with our different religious beliefs as a Christian and a Buddhist.
It was like butter and kaya, different tastes that blended so well together like in butter kaya toast.
Though A and I had different religious beliefs, we respected each other’s views, and our conversations were full of similarities about our beliefs. We often joked that if Buddha and Jesus were BFFs in their time, then both of us would be the perfect example of that relationship.
Whenever one of us had a bad day, I would say “Let God” to him, and he would say “Let Go” to me. This had become our favourite phrase over the years: Let God Let Go.
My daily visit to A in the hospital was always a precious one because I knew the time that I could spend with him was limited. I would always get him his favourite food on the days that he had an appetite, tell him funny stories, and do a massage for him which he enjoyed greatly, treating me like his personal masseur.
‘Wow, you really let go!’
On one such day, as I was having my usual conversation with him, he held my hands and said that he had decided to go into palliative care and asked that I stay with him and guide him in this last part of his journey.
Believe it or not, I had never cried since the start of his cancer journey but this time around, I just burst out in tears and cried buckets.
A just stared at me with his sparkling big eyes and cheekily said, “Wow, you really let go!”
This indeed was a real-life practice for me—not only did I have to guide someone in their last journey, but they were also a close friend who was of a different faith.
Introducing A to monastics and Buddhism
Developing mental states for future lives
As a Dhamma practitioner and speaker myself, I started trying to recall and research any material that enabled me to be A’s guide for his passing on. The mental states required for heavenly rebirth were a consistent theme in my research.
I thought that if I could use the principles behind these mental states without using Dhamma concepts, it would help A’s mind feel lighter, happier, and joyous, and therefore, it would be of great help for his next life.
There was a conversation in Dighajanu Sutta (AN8.54) between the Buddha and a lay disciple, Dighajanu, about developing mental states for future lives, namely Faith, Ethics, Generosity, and Wisdom.
Faith
Faith is a powerful energy that helps one’s mind feel energised, hopeful, and joyous. It was easy to trigger the faith in A as his religion is built on the foundation of faith.
I encouraged A to consistently arouse his faith in God and understand that whatever happens is in the hands of God. To not worry about the future and just be in the moment.
There were times when A felt immense pain and he told me because of the faith he had in God, the pain decreased tremendously most of the time. As Buddhists, we all know, that is the power of faith—it makes one filled with joy, and probably more endorphins are released into the body.
The author with A at Chijmes Singapore
Ethics
A is, by nature, a good person. If he were a Buddhist, he would be one that kept to his precepts relatively well. I always encouraged him to remind himself of all the good things that he had done, and he had also not intentionally harmed anyone in his life.
This constant reminder of him being a good person also helped him remind himself that he is a good servant to his God.
That recollection itself had helped him overcome his guilt and fear of death. I told him, “Whatever happens, you have a good report card to show to God”, and he often gave a peaceful smile, knowing that he led a good moral life.
Generosity
As for generosity, I told A to recall all the good things that he had done for others and his church. A was an active volunteer of his church. He was also an active missionary who went to various countries to help the underprivileged.
Even when he was fighting the cancer battle, he was generous with his time and was always keen to share his faith and company.
Wisdom
Wisdom was the part that I found hard to explain to him. In Buddhism, wisdom is about realising the 4 Noble Truths (4NT). I was thinking very hard about how to help A to arouse this mental state. One night, as I was reflecting on the 4NT, it then came to my understanding that this whole Dhamma journey is about letting go.
When one realises the 4NT, it becomes about letting go of all greed, ill-will, and delusion. The more you let go, the less you suffer. I told A that he had to let go of any expectations, his body, and eventually his life.
He must Let God. Whatever the journey was, God would have a place for him when his mission was done in this world. A found peace in this and said that he finally understood “Let Go Let God,” which was our favourite phrase.
The journey ends
A few days before his passing, I asked A if he would be ok if I were away for a week as I was the organiser of a meditation retreat. He said he would be okay, and he was at peace and ready to return to heaven at any time.
He cheekily asked me to share merits with him in the retreat and said that he would look out for me when he is in heaven.
That night, I was preparing to rest for the day at the retreat centre. As I was dozing off, I was awakened by a bright light at the corner of my bed. I saw the light and felt extremely peaceful and joyous.
I returned to my sleep and didn’t think much about it as I was exhausted. A few minutes later I received a text from his close friend, stating that A had passed on peacefully in his sleep a few minutes earlier.
When I saw the text, I was at peace and there was immense joy in me. I know A had passed on well and he is now definitely in a good place.
The next morning, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. I am grateful to my dear friend for allowing me to be part of his journey of passing on.
I am grateful to the Dhamma as I have witnessed the power of its teachings. It truly transcends space, time, and even people. If one is willing to listen and accept it, one will truly see the fruits of it. Dhamma is truly Ehi Passiko!
