TLDR: After a deep personal loss and a spiral into depression, the author found comfort through friends and therapy. However, lasting purpose only emerged after encountering Buddhist teachings through a meditation retreat. With support from a spiritual community and wise teachers, the journey of recovery began — one guided by compassion, patience, and the recognition of impermanence.
It’s likely this isn’t your first time reading an article about the profound effects of Buddhist teachings (it is the whole premise of this site, after all!). In line with HOL’s Mental Health Month, here’s one more to add to the collection — written in hopes that this story brings you comfort and reminds you that you are not alone in your struggle.
To begin, I wasn’t particularly religious growing up. I held certain stereotypes about traditional religions — seeing them as ritualistic and often at odds with science. I didn’t consider myself spiritual either; absorbed in worldly pursuits, I never explored anything deeper.
My only touchpoint with Buddhism was a rudimentary understanding of kamma, which gave me comfort during a particularly powerless moment in childhood.
When Grief Took Everything Away
Two years ago, someone very dear to me left, and the grief brought me to my knees. Things that once brought me joy or purpose suddenly felt hollow. Everything seemed frivolous and futile. What was the point of doing anything if everyone I loved would leave one day anyway?
Nihilism took over, and my world collapsed.
In the weeks that followed, I woke up every day wishing I hadn’t, as I was constantly dragged under a relentless tide of anxiety, guilt, depression and regret from the moment I opened my eyes. I cried for hours, and would be so drained that even basic self-care, like showering, felt very difficult.
I’d only ever get out of bed for some food, water or the toilet.
The pain, loneliness, and self-loathing were unbearable — so acute and exhausting that I could barely function. It felt like there was no end in sight, and I wanted so badly for it to stop. Desperate to escape those feelings and clouded by depression’s distortions, I began planning a permanent escape.
The First Glimmers of Support
No one around me knew what I was going through as I kept to myself. I knew I would only be able to get the help I needed if I reached out, hence I eventually confided in a few people I trusted. I made plans to meet and sob talk with them, which also forced me out of the house (more importantly my bed). They listened and kept me company, providing the respite I desperately needed. But it was temporary.
In moments alone, I fell right back into the spiral.
I went through the motions of life feeling dreadful and devoid of purpose as days blurred into weeks.
Then, one day, my mother — who never pushed religion — asked if I wanted to join her at a Buddhist meditation retreat. I hadn’t expressed interest, but with my calendar now empty, I said yes.
With two weeks left before the retreat and almost no knowledge of Buddhism, I dove into a crash course: Bhikkhu Bodhi’s videos, scattered online resources, anything I could find. The retreat turned out to be a pleasant experience.
A change in routine quietened the noise in my head, even if just a little.
A Story That Changed Everything
The turning point came during a Dhamma talk, where the teacher shared the parable of the one-eyed turtle that surfaces once every hundred years (SN 56.48). The story hit me hard — the rarity of human rebirth, and even more so, the rarity of encountering the Buddha’s teachings.
For the first time in a long while, I felt grateful to be alive as my perspective shifted.
It dawned on me: there’s no guarantee I’ll have these same conditions in a future life — no certainty of being human, or finding the Dhamma again. As the Ajahn urged us to make haste in getting as close as possible to the door of Nibbāna in this very life, I made up my mind to practise well and not waste my blessings.
After months of existential nihilism, I had finally found meaning and purpose. I was no longer in a rush to leave this life behind. The retreat also introduced me to DAYWA, an invaluable community of spiritual friends who have anchored me ever since.
Burnout and Relapse
Of course, this wasn’t one-and-done. Inspired by the retreat, I dove headfirst into Buddhist books and meditation — only to burn out when progress felt slow or nonexistent. Sometimes, things even felt worse.
I quickly slipped back and found myself still very much shrouded in the dark cloud of depression.
Between my relapses and frequent visits to my psychiatrist and psychologist, I’d turn to my close friends when I felt overwhelmed. Soon enough, I noticed I was repeating myself, and felt like a nuisance despite their reassurance.
I went back to my old pattern of bottling things up, and it was a tumultuous period, made even more turbulent with the passing of my grandmother as well. Eventually, I threw myself into work to feel better about myself, as I found it easier and quicker to seek that validation and gratification that I hadn’t yet achieved in meditation.
Meeting a Teacher Who Saw Through Me
Months later, through the compassion of a DAYWA leader, I was given the rare chance to speak privately with a wise, well-practiced teacher. Her remarkable ability to see through people made me feel deeply vulnerable — there was no hiding from her. As long-suppressed pain resurfaced, her gentle wisdom helped me navigate through it.
She guided me to focus on the cessation of pain rather than its onset, so I could witness its impermanence. Just as sediments in the water settle to the bottom with time when undisturbed, these thoughts and emotions would eventually subside when one leaves them be.
“Nature is helping you — let it help you.” she said.
While it was scary and easy to be swept away by the strong currents of sentiment, I had to trust that nature would take its course. Thoughts and emotions, however strong, would pass, just like waves crashing in and then retreating.
In a previous conversation with her, she had also pointed out my stubbornness, saying I wouldn’t have stumbled onto this path if I hadn’t suffered so deeply (which, in hindsight, is very true). That comment gave a new meaning to my struggles. I began to frame it as a sort of “canon event” or origin story of a protagonist (think Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse — IYKYK). It helped me shift from victimhood to something a little more light-hearted and empowering.
Looking back, I was incredibly fortunate to have support from family, friends, colleagues, and access to professional care. It was the hardest blow dealt in the softest way possible; hard enough to knock me down so that I’d look for a way out of suffering, but cushioned by the surrounding support so that I still had a chance to get back up.
Learning to Be Patient With Healing
These days, I take a more balanced approach to deepening my knowledge and practice. Slowly, I’m building a new identity — one not defined by the person who left me. No doubt I still have bad days, slight triggers and anxiety about associated topics, people, places and memories. The fear of relapsing hasn’t fully gone.
But now, I do my best to extend compassion to myself. I try to be patient, allowing myself to move at my own pace instead of beating myself up for taking “too long”. Armed with the Buddha’s teachings, and flanked by my support system, and compassionate kalyāṇamittā, I find the courage and strength to pick myself up and try again — one day at a time.
Wise Steps
Be kind to yourself during difficult times. Recovery is not linear. Avoid berating yourself for being stuck or moving slowly. There’s no fixed timeline for healing.
You are not a burden. It’s okay to reach out to others. Expressing vulnerability and seeking help are not signs of weakness, nor are they things to feel guilty about. Leaning on your support network is a valid and important part of recovery. Prioritise getting better — you can pay it forward when you’re ready and within capacity.
Seek professional help. Therapists, psychiatrists, and support groups play a vital role. Sometimes, these challenges require guidance and support beyond what we can achieve on our own. Reaching out to a qualified professional can give us the necessary tools and strategies to navigate these complex issues.
Reframe your suffering. Changing the narrative can empower you. Whether through gratitude, compassion, or even humor, new perspectives can turn victimhood into resilience.
Have faith in impermanence. Emotions, thoughts, and pain are like waves — they arise and pass. Trust that, with time and stillness, clarity will return.
Join us in this conversation between Cheryl and Heng Yeh —an award-winning poet, writer, and translator ✍️, as we discuss grief using poetry as a means to unpack the nuances. The conversation feels like peeling an onion , unfolding the layers of this complex human experience, and we hope you take a ride with us on your morning or evening commute!
We talk about grief 😢, pain 💔, loneliness 😔, and everything in between.
There’s a little bonus 🎁 at the very end, so make sure you don’t miss that 😉
About the Speaker
Yee Heng Yeh is a writer, translator, and poet from Malaysia. His poetry has appeared in various publications and was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He also contributes to Penang Monthly, writes for the theatre, and runs workshops. Last year, he did a residency in Rimbun Dahan and was a Writing Fellow at A Public Space. He is currently the poetry editor of NutMag, a Penang zine.
Key Takeaways
Poetry as a Tool for Healing Grief:
Heng Yeh describes how poetry provides a safe space to express and process grief when other forms of support feel inadequate. By offering a shared emotional language, poetry helps people connect and navigate the isolating nature of loss.
Grief’s Impact on Identity:
The loss of a loved one can deeply affect an individual’s sense of self, particularly if the person played a key role in shaping their identity. Cheryl and Heng Yeh discuss how healing involves redefining one’s relationship with the deceased and adjusting to a new reality.
Living with Impermanence:
The conversation reflects on Buddhist teachings about impermanence, emphasising that understanding the inevitability of loss allows for deeper presence and acceptance in life. Embracing impermanence helps people cope with grief and find meaning in the process.
Transcript
Full Transcript
[00:00:00] Cheryl: Welcome to the Handful of Leaves podcast. My name is Cheryl and today we have Heng Yeh, who is a writer, translator and poet from Malaysia. His poetry has appeared in various publications and was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He also contributes to Penang Monthly, writes for the theatre and runs workshops. Last year, he did a residency in Rimbun Dahan and was a writing fellow at A Public Space. He’s currently the poetry editor of Nutmeg Penang . Heng Yeh is one of my closest friends, and I’m so excited to have him here to discuss with me the topic of grief. Welcome, Heng Yeh how are you feeling?
[00:00:47] Heng Yeh: Hello, a bit nervous, but feeling good and excited about the discussion that we’ll be having.
[00:00:52] Cheryl: I’m very glad that this time we will have the opportunity to listen to his poem at the end of this episode. So stay tuned to hear his masterpiece. Grief is a very, delicate topic. And as Heng Yeh and I was discussing how to go about this, we feel that we should start with a poem, and then slowly discuss nuances and aspects of grief, hopefully we can learn from this sharing experience. [00:01:17] Heng Yeh: We have poems because, it helps us connect to other people’s experiences of this very universal feeling.
[00:01:24] Cheryl: Let me share this poem with you. The poem is When I Am Asked by Liesel Muller. When I am asked how I began writing poems, I talk about the indifference of nature. It was soon after my mother died, a brilliant June day, everything blooming. I sat on a grey stone bench in a lovingly planted garden, but the day lilies were as deaf as the ears of drunken sleepers and the roses curved inward. Nothing was black or broken, and not a leaf fell, and the sun blared endless commercials for summer holidays. I sat on a grey stone bench, ringed with the ingenue faces of pink and white impatiens, and placed my grief in the mouth of language, the only thing that would grieve with me.
[00:02:19] Heng Yeh: I think when I first read it, I had already started writing poems then, it definitely resonated in the sense that sometimes when there’s no one or nothing, you feel like you can turn to, poetry is like the outlet, or the place where you can capture or allow an emotion to exist. In the, Liesel Mueller’s poem, she talks about , language being the only thing that grieves with her , but language actually also means humanity because , humans are the ones who come up with language, even though on the surface, the poem looks like she is feeling very isolated. I think she actually also finds comfort in the fact that it is a shared experience, right? And people have talked about it before. And that’s why language is one of the bridges or, you know, art in general that helps us connect to this, to this realization that we are not alone, when it comes to this. When I was reading, I was like, Oh, that’s so true. You know, sometimes some of the poems I write also has this similar purpose, I guess you could call it. How did you feel reading about it? Especially, if you don’t usually read a lot of poetry, what do you feel about it?
[00:03:27] Cheryl: I Think what I felt from this was the author sense of loneliness. As she experienced the death of her mother, yet at the same time, the world moved on. And I think that’s very much, an accurate description of grief where your heart could be broken into a million pieces. Then you know, the day still turns into nights and life continue to move on.
[00:03:55] Heng Yeh: There are many types of grief, right? The death of a loved one, relationship ends or friendship ends, that’s a kind of grieving. Sometimes you grieve for maybe chances you didn’t take.. So there’s always a, a kind of sense that You’ve lost something forever, right?
It’s a kind of a feeling of permanence in the loss, right? That is what makes it , so heavy. And I really love what you pointed out about the persona in the poem that this kind of paradox in your heart .The world should stop, but somehow it still moves on. There’s a very famous poem by Auden that has the line, “stop all the clocks because his loved one has, has died.” it’s a recurring feeling that people have in grief.
[00:04:40] Cheryl: Grief is the natural response to bereavement And when you talk about the different types of grief, I think why it hits so deeply is because a person or people close to us that we grieve for usually has an impact on our sense of identity. They give us something. So for example, a safe haven in relationships, the idea of a self esteem coming from parents, when from young, they constantly validate you, then you have this sense of self or like, I am a good person, bad person. I’m funny. I’m whatever. So when we lose this person, then our identity just becomes so uncertain. It becomes a huge shock of like what am I? Who am I?
[00:05:22] Heng Yeh: I really like what you said about the identity because that person was such a big part of our lives, and how we perceive ourselves that losing them was also losing a part of ourself. In life, you know, we have so many different relationships, but we always show a slightly different version of ourselves to that specific person so only that person knows us in that way. And it could be a parent, a friend or a lover or even an acquaintance. Sometimes when you lose that person, you don’t even realize what you’re losing yet, but it’s only after time that you kind of realize that, “Oh, I have not been able to show this side of myself” or this side of myself only comes up when I was with them. Now that that is not happening anymore, then you feel that absence almost. Have you had any sort of experiences like that?
[00:06:13] Cheryl: Definitely, when losing a best friend, due to the normal circumstances of life, either I change, the person change or we change, right? And sometimes I would reminisce or I would just be nostalgic about the idea that, Oh, I don’t really get to be so open about certain things that I only share exclusively with this person.
And I don’t have that opportunity anymore. So that what that person provided to me is just taken away from the normal process of changing and so the interesting thing is that yes, that happens, but then that changes too. I start to form friendships, relationships with other people, and I am then able to bond in a similar way of intimacy as I have used to with the person again, and there’s a kind of renewed optimism towards life.
If you look into the process of grieving is first, of course, the acceptance of the loss, like in my example, like the loss of a friendship, but the second thing is about accepting the consequence of the loss. So what losing intimacy or that space to just be yourself and share exclusive things means to you. You need to accept that consequence. After that, we have to change the relationship to the person we lost. The death of a stage of life means a birth of a new stage of life. Meaning the death of a relationship could also mean the birth of a new friendship.
[00:07:44] Heng Yeh: Being a kind of adult that now has to navigate the world without parental guidance.
[00:07:51] Cheryl: Or even a sense of like finding parental figures in other people, right. Being more open to teachers and guides in other places. And as we go through this process of grief, a very important milestone to hit in the process of grieving is the restoration of the capacity to thrive again in life. So that’s where I feel I processed a friendship where it’s fine if I don’t share this part of myself, I could express myself in other ways. And explore again, start to explore the world, start to explore new friendships. And then that helps me to look into the future with more optimism and happiness, which is kind of the baseline state before the grief happened.
[00:08:29] Heng Yeh: I want to pick up on things that you mentioned there, which is the point that your relationship to the person you’re grieving changes, throughout the grief and after the grieving. A lot of the times when we build relationships, we are building them in the future, right? We are thinking of this relationship in terms of being something that will accompany us throughout the foreseeable future or even a lifetime. When that is lost you lose an entire future that you have been building up with your head. You have to stop becoming attached to that future and come back to the present. That future is, non existent anymore. It’s a reckoning of the fact that this life that you created in your head, will not be able to happen.
[00:09:14] Cheryl: I think every person will have a set of beliefs, assumptions about the world. And one is that life will be constant and it, we need to have this assumption because it helps us to then have structure and help us to make sense of the world.
So when you assume that a life is constant, then you can plan for the future. you’re going to have kids going to, whatever, whatever. Then, you know, we can have the strategies to make that successful. So when things don’t go according to plan, then that gets shaken up. We are essentially moved from constancy to uncertainty. That our whole world just we need to find constancy again. And on the psychological level, that is what our brains are constantly trying to do, right? Getting us back to a place of safety, which is a place of certainty.
But if we look into the Buddha’s teachings. He has said all condition things are uncertain. So no matter where you put your refuge in, in any temporary refuge that could give you a sense of stability, it is only merely an illusion, but what would be a better way to look at the world, is to try your best to understand impermanence in every condition thing.
[00:10:28] Heng Yeh: I think this is a kind of question that I’ve always been grappling with. How do you hold that knowledge or try to hold that understanding, everything is uncertain. Everything is impermanent. But then, still go about your day and then like, Oh, you have to send an email. There’s a deadline, right? How to not let it, Negatively affect maybe your relationships with people because there are some people, because they are so afraid of experiencing loss, that they don’t allow themselves to love or be loved right on like a deep level. [00:10:57] Cheryl: Do you feel that’s you?
[00:10:57] Heng Yeh: No, I hope that’s not me. Oh, I try not to be that.
[00:11:00] Cheryl: So how do you try not to be right? Like, I’m just putting back your question to you.
[00:11:04] Heng Yeh: Yes. So I saw a quote on social media that I feel like it’s been bouncing around for quite some time. Cause I was trying to find the original source, but I couldn’t. But it’s basically, don’t borrow grief from the future. , I was like, wow, so powerful. The idea is that yes, you can acknowledge that it will be all these relationships and people, and the material world is impermanent and filled with uncertainty.
But at the same time, it doesn’t mean that just because of that, I should cut off everyone and I shouldn’t let myself feel things but it’s just to enjoy the present moment, like not being attached to the future, because even if you’re attached to a future of loss, that is still a future that you’re attaching to. So to just come back to the present and really enjoy what is there and appreciate it, and knowing that it is impermanent, in fact can help you deepen your appreciation as opposed to scaring you away from it, and to just embrace that it’s just, part of life, to have to go through these feelings.
[00:12:06] Cheryl: I completely agree with you because the idea of running away, detaching yourself from feeling emotions or likes and dislikes, I think that stems from ignorance or just stems from wrong view, because you are trying to run away from the inevitable. I feel the more balanced approach is aligning yourself with the right view and the right view being that this is part of life. This grief is part of life. It is the result of everything being conditioned to destruction, everything being conditioned to change and everything being conditioned to the kind of breaking apart that we have to experience. And then I think that is true equanimity where you see things with right view and then you accept them rather than seeing things with wrong view and try to run away from everything. And then I don’t know where you go and hide from life suffering because there’s no way you can hide from it. Right.
[00:13:03] Heng Yeh: Yeah. So true.
[00:13:05] Cheryl: It’s very interesting how the Buddha balanced this as well, where we still have to live in the world yet at the same time we need to align ourselves to right view. In the Buddha’s time, there was this king, Pasenadi who loved his Queen Malika very, very much. So one day he was just chilling with the Buddha. Then his assistant came and say, Oh, your Queen Malika has died. And then he was very, very heartbroken because he loved her very much. And so lucky him, the Buddha was there, so the Buddha was there to advise him. I would summarize this.
[00:13:37] Cheryl: The first part is the Buddha reminded him this, he says, that what is subject to aging will have to age. What is subject to illness will become ill and what is subject to death will die. What is subject to ending will end and what is subject to destruction will be destroyed. And in each of these statements, the Buddha emphasized that no one, not even contemplatives Brahmans, the Devas, Maras, and Brahmas, which are like quite big gods or anyone else in the world can prevent these processes from occurring. And this really underscores the Buddha’s concept of impermanence and the futility of clinging to these things. And then the Buddha talk about two kinds of people. So the kind of people who are like run of the mill, uninstructed, basically just like me.
[00:14:23] Heng Yeh: Like us
[00:14:25] Cheryl: He said, okay, so these people, then when they experience this kind of change, you know, when their loved ones die, they respond with negative emotions, sorrow, grief, lamentation, and distress, and leads to harmful consequences, which is like their appearances change, they look ugly, they lose their appetite, and then they neglect their responsibilities and this pleases their enemies and worries their friends.
When he used this term “uninstructed run of the mill” it’s very interesting, because it also implies that, yes, most people react this way, but there is an alternative, which is, then he shows the alternative, which is that the noble ones who practice, because of their practice and understanding of the right view, they are able to experience all of these change, but they don’t do all of these things. And instead, what they do is they pull out the poison arrow of sorrow that pierces them. But the run of the mill person who go and do this kind of things, what happens is that they torture themselves with this poison arrow.
Okay, but this is not the ending. The most mind blowing part is, sure, the Buddha reminds you of all this truth of life, but then he goes on to say, “where and however an aim is accomplished through eulogies, chants, good sayings, donations, and family customs, follow them diligently there and that way” Isn’t that amazing? The Buddha recognizes the importance of customs, the recognizing of the grieving process until it is necessary.
The moment, you start indulging it, then the Buddha says, you got to pull out this poison arrow and stop indulging this. Which I thought, well, wow, it’s pretty mind blowing.
[00:16:04] Heng Yeh: I love that he ended with that because he realized that most of us are basic bitches. We need this kind of processes. When it overtakes you, right? When it consumes you, for example, you can’t even do basic tasks, and it becomes detrimental, it can reach that point, it can actually reach that point which is why it’s so terrifying. Last year, one of my aunts passed away, that was the last funeral that I had attended. I was really struck by the use of the rites, the whole organizational process and how family members are expected to come and do things like a lot of chanting and burning things, then you send the coffin into the cemetery and then watch it get lowered into the ground and as a kid, you don’t really understand this, why we have these rituals, and it’s almost scary and it’s uncomfortable, people are crying here and there, you are not sure what’s going on. At this age now, I realized how important it is because it, number one, it gives you a sense of closure and It also brings the community together, the family. So even as you’re burning the paper money, then you’re talking about memories or even just catching up because you haven’t seen each other for years. Kind of nice that in the grieving process, people can come together and do things together to remember a person.
[00:17:22] Cheryl: And those rituals are simply a means to healing.
[00:17:26] Heng Yeh: Yeah. So I agree with what the Buddha say, what is the aim? And I feel it’s actually to help us heal and not to ‘heal and move on’, but to heal by remembering the person, right. And remember the entirety of their life and not just their death.
[00:17:45] Cheryl: On average, research shows that when one person dies, there are nine people that is bereaved. Those nine people are like friends, family, and, close friends. It also means that those nine people can come together and help each other to heal. What has been helpful for you in your past healing, from grief?
[00:18:02] Heng Yeh: It might be hard to talk about actionable steps if you’re the one who is grieving, because the whole nature of something like grief is that it’s so overwhelming that you can barely think logically and then all the usual things, taking a shower or cooking a meal for yourself seems absurd because you’re not even in a state of mind to think about those kinds of things. But I think that one thing that it’s just to know that It will pass in time, and maybe that will sound very horrible, like, oh, so as time goes on, I won’t feel so sad about this person anymore, but think of a glass jar with a black ball in the middle.
The glass jar is your life, or yourself. The black ball is grief. The black ball getting smaller over time. Or, many people think that grief is like . Actually the glass jar expands. So the size of your grief will stay the same, the absence that a person leaves behind, will not change. Because as life goes on, as it has to, you also, your life will expand and you also continue to grow as a person. But the grief you carry can still be there, and there can still be space for it. Just that it would feel less overwhelming because you have more time, more space to process, to grow, to come to terms with the fact that, this person is, not present in the way that they once was.
[00:19:27] Cheryl: And how did it look like in your life?
[00:19:30] Heng Yeh: It goes underground for a very long time, and sometimes for long stretches of that time you don’t even think about the person. And then suddenly something comes up right maybe you read an old email, or you hear a song, something triggers it. And then suddenly you’re like “Oh shit. You know, that person is really gone.” Like suddenly you’re living with that emotion again. And a lot of the times it feels just as intense, you’re just as sad as when you first lost them, but just that now you have a different perspective, you’re now a slightly different person. You can still go about your day it is something I find that you continuously live with cyclical.
[00:20:07] Cheryl: On the neuro-biological side, like in terms of our brain, Dr. Andrew Huberman, he’s quite a famous YouTuber shared that grief is held up by three things, time, space, and closeness. Time is more about the idea of when will I see the person next? And space, where is the person? And when a person dies time, obviously it’s taken away. You will never see the person again. Space depends on what you believe, right? If you believe in heaven, sure, they’re there. If you don’t believe there’s anything, then sure. There’s this void in the space and our brains in grief goes into a motivation state. So motivated state is described as when you’re very, very, very hungry, you’re just separated from that wall of delicious food. So, that, that state where you’re like, very highly agitated, highly motivated because you’re so deprived and you’re just so close to the food or another way to describe it is when, like animal in heat, they’re just a wall away to the animal that they want to mate with. Grief is the motivated state to close the gap, that you can never close.
Recovering from grief is described as that motivated state waning away in time. And I thought, wow, it’s beautiful. And it’s so beautiful in the sense that it just shows how much compassion there needs to be in humanity, because this changes your brain and it can really affect a person so much and so deeply. And the fact that it happens to every single person because the Buddha said that this is the fundamental first noble truth -that sorrow, that grief, that unsatisfactoriness of anything in this world results in so much pain in everybody. So I think that that is truly humbling to just be reminded again about the universality of, of the conditions that all of us face.
[00:22:10] Heng Yeh: I really love when you say there’s delicious food in front of you, but there’s a wall separating you. And I’m like, that, that is what grief feels like, because in our minds, the person is alive, but the world sees them as they are not present anymore. There is such a strong contrast between what we want to be real versus what is real.
[00:22:32] Cheryl: I do want to extend this further to the practice of metta, the unconditional loving kindness. So one of my, teachers, Ajahn Achalo, actually advised a person who was in heartbreak and he shared that whenever you’re feeling that pain, send yourself metta, have compassion to yourself and at the same time also send this feeling of goodwill and well wishing to all the people who are experiencing grief in this moment with you. And I thought that was such a skillful way to turn, “Oh, it’s all about me” into an act of empowerment. You’re healing yourself and also you’re using that uplifted energy to help others and finding joys in skillful ways .
Grief is a major trigger point for people to become depressed and suicidal and everything and a large part of that is because the coping mechanisms to find a sort of happiness again goes wrong, like people turning to drugs, alcohol and obsessive gaming, but to find, skillful ways, in accordance to the Buddha’s advice, which is walking the eightfold path, which begins with the cultivating of goodness and cultivating of merits. So doing good in ways that are of service to people, your family, the community, to your friends or helping in ways of money, whatever that you resonate with. And I think there’s nothing wrong with being not completely altruistic in helping, meaning that you are allowing yourself to derive some happiness from that. Allow yourself to experience the happiness and joy from doing good.
And in accordance to the Buddhist way, it supports person’s meditation practice as well to have still stillness of mind, which then helps us to cultivate wisdom in according to the right view, right? Which is knowing that things are impermanent. unsatisfactory or unstable and that there’s no core like permanent self. That understanding really helps us to lean into the present moment and what that means is really lean into the changing puzzles each and every moment and allowing ourselves to continuously evolve rather than fixate on the identities and creations of the future and the past.
[00:24:59] Heng Yeh: Grief can be quite ‘self-ish,’ right? You’re holding onto your vision , or that relationship with that person that you’ve built up in your mind. It is centered around how you see the world with that relationship in it. And the grieving process is so inherently centered around the self , I’m not saying selfish as a kind of a judgment value. We need to have an understanding of changing how we are relating to that person, we also have to understand how we are viewing ourselves. For example, how long is too long to hold on to sorrow? How long is too long to punish ourselves.
And to channel that sorrow into compassion towards yourself, to rejoin the world again and connect with other people, connect with yourself instead. Grief, the grieving process both focuses on the self, Which kind of sounds like the same. but I feel like the latter one is trying to come to terms in a way that’s healthy and it’s not, self indulging in your poison arrow of sorrow.
[00:26:00] Cheryl:We suffer to the degree that we attach to its permanence. So yes, it’s very tied up and bound up to this idea of self. And while we live in the world with a self, or everybody who’s not enlightened, I think the most important thing is to not annihilate that, in the sense of like, I’m not going to have a sense of self tomorrow or build up the ego of “no- ego” but rather how do we love as a skillful self?
How do we live as a good self? And I think that constantly is a battle and a journey to not wake up and choose violence, but to wake up and cultivate the path, starting with generosity as I mentioned just now. Because what that essentially does is, is that it teaches you how to let go. And if you tie that back to grief, it’s all about letting go and letting go of our expectations, letting go of constancy and accepting the change that has been brought upon us. It’s definitely, difficult because I sway between, sometimes, life is really just like that. That you better just accept it as it is and stop fighting because the more you fight, the more you suffer. But then there are days where it’s like, no, how could this be happening?
[00:27:17] Heng Yeh: Right.
[00:27:22] Cheryl: The glass ball becomes everything I see. I think life is really just the process of getting up again and again, even though the glass ball is going to hit you left, right and center.
[00:27:32] Heng Yeh: Another thing about generosity, to let go which I think is such an important point. The loss that we feel, feel so personal, precisely because of that personal relationship we have with that person. But sometimes when we talk to other people who are also grieving, for that person, though, maybe in a different way than you, you’d be surprised to hear that, “Oh, it turns out that this person has this side to them” or that they play all these different roles or that these people perceive them in these certain ways that like, you’ve never thought about, and sometimes it’s nice to let go of your own individual perception of that person to accommodate this expanding understanding of who this person actually was in their life- that they weren’t ” just a friend” to you or they weren’t just a father to you, or they weren’t just your boss, but they were all these multiple other roles as well.
[00:28:26] Cheryl: Part of the process of grief is you will go through the obsession of the person. you think of the person nonstop and most of the time it will be relating to how that person was to you. When you expand it to just knowing them as a person, the different roles that they play in life, you can Cultivate one of the Brahma Viharas, which the Buddha calls mudita, an appreciative joy, of the person in the sense that It doesn’t have that clinging of like “ME” involved in everything about the person, but rather, “Oh, the person’s goodness as a person and rejoicing in that with as much love as you would when you appreciate a beautiful flower without wanting to pluck it. So yeah, it’s very beautiful that you shared that. thanks. Okay, I think we did cover a lot about grief and Heng Yeh and I thought it would be nice to end with a poem, that would let you concretize your feelings and experience of grief. Heng Yeh, over to you.
[00:29:27] Heng Yeh: The poem that I’ve chosen to share was one that I wrote just this year. And the title is Love is Watching Someone Die. So for those of you who are familiar with this line, it’s actually taken from a song, by a band called, Death Cab for Cutie. And the song is What Sara Said. I feel like it’s such a good encapsulation of the nature of loving and grieving, and I was also thinking of the movie Arrival when I wrote this, because no spoilers, but it’s also very much about how do you love while accepting that grief is part of the bargain. So I wrote this poem, which I shall read now.
Love is watching someone die. In this particular instance, I am thinking about my mother, but really it will be everyone you know, there’s no one to blame. It’s human nature to die. All of time is a circle, the way all language is a circling around what we cannot answer. The question being, if what is worth loving, must also be worth losing, what do you choose? There is no answer. You choose with your life.
[00:30:48] Cheryl: Thank you so much Heng Yeh, for sharing a piece of yourself and for coming on to this episode with us. To end this episode, we invite the listeners to choose with your life. Feel free to share with us what you thought about the poem, what you thought about this episode in our telegram.
Bonus!!! Reading of a poem we both resonated very much with!
As long as there’s love, there will be grief. The grief of time passing. Of life moving on half-finished. Of empty spaces that were once bursting with laughter and energy of the people we love. As long as there’s love, there will be grief. Because grief is love’s natural continuation. It shows up in the aisles of stores we once frequented. For the half finished bottle we poured out in a whiff of cologne, we get two years after they’ve been gone. Grief is a giant neon sign. Protruding through everything, pointing everywhere. Broadcasting loudly. Love was here. In the finer print. Quietly… love… still Is…
TLDR: Is ‘moving on’ about forgetting or embracing memories? Explore the depths of grief and healing in the Buddhist context.
The term “move on” can have two drastically different meanings: it can refer to someone who has passed away and moved on from this human existence, or it can mean someone has moved on from a situation or relationship in their life. Both interpretations carry profound weight and stir up deep emotions within us.
If we’re talking about death, the idea of a loved one moving on is gut-wrenching. The finality of it, the loss, the absence that will forever linger – it’s a pain that cuts deep into the soul (or the lack thereof). We’re left with memories, remnants of the person who was once such a vital part of our lives, now fading away into photographs and echoes of their voice.
For the recent accident at Tampines, I can’t imagine how the loved ones of the deceased would feel. Gone so suddenly are the loved ones you just said ‘bye’ to in the morning.
Moving on in this sense means finding the strength to keep living without their physical presence, honouring their memory, and carrying forth the love they cultivated within us.
But “moving on” can also refer to the end of a relationship, a romance, a connection that was once profound but has reached its expiration. This too is agonizing, and in some sense, similar to the pain of a loved one dying.
Untethering & What’ifs
Yet, the grief is tinted with different hues – the hot sting of heartbreak, the hollowness of being untethered from someone who meant everything, and the haunting “what ifs” that pervade the mind. Here, moving on is an exercise in letting go, in allowing ourselves to heal and progress despite the longing and attachment we feel to this person who was once our world.
If you’ve ever had to move on from a lover, you know the desolation of it all too well. That person was your confidant, your sanctuary, the one you poured your heart into with abandon.
And now they are gone, opted out, and moved on themselves, leaving you with a void that feels inescapable. When my last relationship ended, it felt like the ground had disappeared beneath my feet. They had become my anchor during difficult times.
The advice here is simple in theory yet excruciatingly difficult in practice: you must allow yourself to feel it all.
The anguish, the anger, the disbelief – let every emotion course through you, hold nothing back. Scream into your pillow, cry until your eyes sting, write lamentations into the depths of night. For it is only by feeling it fully that the pain can begin to lose its brutality over time. You must resist the urge to repress, to slap on fake smiles and hollow out your heart. That path leads to entombed heartache that will sabotage any future joy.
It may feel endless, this confronting of your hurt, but it is far braver than turning your back on the storm of emotions within. Talk to loved ones, write, meditate on acceptance – do whatever appropriate rituals help to alchemize this transition.
And be endlessly compassionate and patient with yourself. You wouldn’t berate a friend for aching over this loss, so afford yourself that same tenderness.
There is no schedule for healing, only the choice to consciously feel and consciously heal.
This echoes how the Buddha advised King Pasenadi when the king’s queen passed away. It could be summarised into three areas:
1. Reflect on the universality and impermanence of change and death. All beings experience loss, so put the personal sting in perspective.
2. Express your grief through skillful means like eulogies, donations and wise sayings. Heal your heart by dedicating merit to your loved one and encouraging goodness in others.
3. Remind yourself that there is still purpose to be found – get back to meaningful work for your well-being and that of others. Channel energy into positive actions rather than unhelpful displays of grief.
Only in Time
In time, the lacerations will scab over and scar. You will think of this person less, or think of them as a figure from your past rather than an acute absence.
Small joys will find a way to bloom again in the spaces within you that were temporarily dormant.
This is the purpose of moving on – to clear space for something new to grow in its own time, whether that be peace, rekindled passions, or another great love. But that process cannot begin until we have fully reckoned with the loss and lovingly attended to the tender, wounded parts of our hearts.
So let the moving on be anguished and visceral. Let it be long, bittersweet epiphanies in journaling and drives where you scream along to songs. Let it be whatever it must be to exorcise the hurt in order to move forward as your most liberated, healed self.
Your heart deserves to be uncaged and to beat robustly again in this life, no matter how excruciating the journey to getting there may be.
The Greatest Tragedy
Ultimately, the greatest tragedy after being left behind would be to abandon yourself in the process. Too often, the patterns that emerge look like: lashing out with corrosive self-judgment, indulging in sensual escapes, forcibly detaching from your emotional world through workaholism or thrill-seeking.
For me, work threw me a lifeline, giving my restless mind an escape from replaying memories on loop. But the ache was still there on long MRT rides home. Was I able to find solace in the cells of my excel spreadsheet? You bet I didn’t.
This path of self-alienation robs you of the vital parts needed to truly heal. It’s your gentleness, your willingness to feel, your commitment to authenticity – these are the fertile seeds of rebirth amidst the ashes.
Tears to flow, shoulders to lean on
So allow the tears to flow, without judgment or forcing them away. Lean on loved ones who can compassionately share the burden of processing this loss. Speak the unspeakable – how much you still care for this person, yet realize they could not meet you fully. Be tenderly devoted to your own heart through this; she is the one who will nurture you into your next becoming.
Every part of you is essential, no matter how insignificant this experience tries to make you feel.
You are so much more than this ending. This heartbreak need not brutalize you. Nurture a deep connection with the Dhamma, allowing it to guide you towards greater love and understanding, both for yourself and others.
It took me by surprise that over a year later, I could look at old photos (deleted from my instagram public feed) without the same sting. Healing truly is gradual.
Wise Tips:
1. Fully feel and release the pain without repression. Buddhism teaches that resistance to the truth of suffering only prolongs it. Allow yourself to grieve viscerally – scream, cry, write it out. Only by feeling the anguish fully can you ultimately metabolize and release it. Resisting or repressing the pain will only entomb it within you.
2. Practice profound self-compassion and surrender to impermanence. Berate yourself for the depth of your love, for that openness of heart is one of life’s most sacred gifts. Visualize releasing every shred of attachment to this person, the narratives you’d built, and the mementos of your bond. Grieve each letting go, but keep letting go until you have utterly surrendered to impermanence.
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: We have all said goodbyes at some point in our lives. Does it always have to be a sad occasion? How can we better deal with goodbyes? Wilson reflects on his departure from loved ones and friends.
Departure (4 Oct, 08:00am)
Knowing that I only had one month left, it felt like there were so many people to meet and so many things to do. The outpouring of love and kindness from the people in my life gave me an indication of the quality of relationships that I have forged in my time here.
However, I could not help but wonder about the intentions behind these gestures.
I felt a tinge of guilt for thinking that all these were more for them than for me, that these helped them to make peace with my eventual departure.
I struggled with myself, “My friends and family seemed to assume that they have a right to ask for whatever time I have remaining. Yet, it also feels wrong to tell people that I want more time for myself and to reject their kindness. Also, how can I make assumptions about their intentions? That reflects more about how I view the loved ones in my life.”
As the end drew near, I thought I would feel sad, nervous or even excited. Interestingly, it just felt like the end of every other day that I have lived so far. I guess maybe I have prepared enough and that the end just feels like it would come sooner or later anyway.
Or maybe it is because I’m still on the way to the other side and that it will all start to sink in once I arrive.
At this point, I want to take the chance to thank the people in my life for loving me, helping me to learn and grow and eventually, letting me go with your heartfelt well-wishes. I think that is one of the greatest gifts I have received. Thank you all.
~The End~
Oh, you are still here? After reading the previous few paragraphs, you may be thinking, “This Wilson has gone crazy already. Say until like he’s dying like that.”
Or maybe you are texting me now to scold me for scaring you. Hehe, please forgive me for deciding on such a dramatic and possibly triggering way to start the article. 😅
To set the record straight, I left Singapore for Japan to study and do research for the next 1.5 years. I do hope that the opening captured how I felt about the similarities between going overseas for a long period and dying.
However, if you are still cross with me (and understandably so 😛), I hope the rest of the article explains well the thought process of this weirdo here.
There are many ways in which we may leave this world. It could be sudden, leaving you shocked like a deer in headlights. Or you would have an idea of the end drawing near, giving you some time to make preparations.
I was reminded of a quote by Paul Kalanithi in his book, “When Breath Becomes Air”, which described his journey of facing his mortality as a surgeon himself: “I began to realise that coming in such close contact with my own mortality had changed both nothing and everything. Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. But now I know knew it acutely.”
I feel blessed to be given the chance to say my goodbyes and to feel the love and care of my loved ones. It made me think about how I would ideally like to leave this world and how I could live my life so that when my time is up, it would reduce the suffering for myself and the people around me.
Celebrating Departures
While I mentioned the similarities between going overseas and dying, I noticed a major difference.
When it comes to going overseas, it is usually celebrated. However, when it comes to dying, it is mostly grieved. You may retort, “Of course lah! Dying is a permanent goodbye leh. You go overseas we can still visit each other what.”
Also, people also tend to celebrate deaths if the deceased had lived till a “ripe” old age. Even the choice of words betrays our value judgments on the importance of living a long life.
To me, this often-quoted phrase captures my attitude succinctly: “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” I think it may be also because I believe that I would not be able to live a long life due to my extreme levels of carelessness.
With all these said, I am not proposing that we ignore the fact that others may be grieving over departures in their lives and therefore, trivialise the suffering that they are experiencing.
It is perfectly normal to experience sadness and grief as a response to loss in our lives, be it due to death or otherwise. However, we can also choose to respond to those by celebrating the life of the deceased.
For me, I had the idea that at my funeral, guests would be invited to note down a favourite memory that they shared with me. They can then probably laugh together at the silly things that happened in my life, including falling into the swan lake at the Singapore Botanic Gardens and getting into a tussle with monkeys at the Penang Botanic Gardens.
Preparing for Departures
How should we then prepare for departures, be it our own or others’, going overseas or dying? Instead of considering the plethora of things that one can prepare to make the departure easier, I think it would be good to focus on something manageable that we can do regularly.
The Buddha encouraged his disciples to use separation and death as part of 5 themes to reflect upon to support them in their spiritual practice.
“Bhikkhus, there are these five themes that should often be reflected upon
… by a householder or one gone forth.
1. ‘I am subject to old age; I am not exempt from old age.’
2. ‘I am subject to illness; I am not exempt from illness.’
3. ‘I am subject to death; I am not exempt from death.’
4. ‘I must be parted and separated from everyone and everything dear and agreeable to me.’
5. ‘I am the owner of my kamma, the heir of my kamma; I have kamma as my origin, kamma as my relative, kamma as my resort; I will be the heir of whatever kamma, good or bad, that I do.’”
Initially, you may find it weird or even uncomfortable when conducting this set of reflections and that is perfectly normal since we do not usually consider our mortality as we go about our everyday lives. However, I do hope this practice can support you in living a good life, so that when the time comes to leave, for whatever reasons and in whatever ways, you are ready for it.
Summary
We often go through life without thinking about departures of different natures, possibly even avoiding the idea of departures.
The grief that we associate with departures arises easily in our minds and while that is perfectly natural, we can approach departures in a different light.
We can choose to celebrate the moments we shared with the person who is leaving while taking the chance to reflect upon separation and death to support us in our spiritual practice.
Wise Steps:
Reminding ourselves of the 5 themes that Buddha taught us help us not to take life for granted
Grief is perfectly natural; what matters is our response to it. finding the right community to support you through it is most crucial!
