Everything Dies

It’s the Buddha’s basic teaching. It’s life’s universal truth. It’s what we most want to deny. Sallie Jiko Tisdale on how this hard but liberating truth can transform your life.

Death and Life” by Gustav Klimt.

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Most Buddhists put flowers on the altar. We know flowers are beautiful, but that isn’t their purpose here. Flowers begin to die as soon we cut them; we carefully lay death in the place that symbolizes our awakening. We bow and make offering to this crucial truth, built into the bones of the world.

The Buddha spoke volumes of words, an immense canon, but most of what he said comes down to this: Things change. Change cannot be avoided. Change hurts. The fundamental teaching of all Buddhism can be stated as everything dies. The Buddha taught this, it fills the sutras, it is repeated by our teachers. But most of all, we learn this from our own daily lives.

Do we believe that we will dissolve? No. Not deep down in the root of the small self, because the small self plans to live forever.

You have probably learned a traditional formula or two for this insistent teaching about the transitory nature of all things:

Anicca vata sankhara: “Impermanent, alas, are all formations!”

Sabbe saokhara anicca: “All conditioned factors of existence are transitory.”

In the Maha Satipatthana Sutta: “[One] abides observing the phenomenon of arising…abides observing the phenomenon of passing away…”

As a new practitioner, I learned the catechism this way: “All compounded things are subject to dissolution.” The language was strange when I first heard it, and as a young practitioner I found myself parsing the words: Compounded. Dissolution. Notice, I was told, how everything is put together from other things and will be taken apart. I began to notice. A table, a house, a nation—I could see this.

But if all things are compounded and will dissolve, then I am compounded and I will dissolve. And this was not something I could easily accept.

I pretend to accept my own death. Most senior practitioners do; many of them may even believe they accept it. Buddhists have their own peculiar points of pride, outside the usual stream of things we pride ourselves on, like humility and asceticism. Plenty of us are proud of our equanimity in the face of extinction, at least until we see the headlights bearing down.

So how deep does this acceptance really go? It’s not just Buddhists who kid themselves about being prepared for death. It’s people. It’s all of us who don’t want to admit that we are organisms fighting for life, that we can sagely repeat, “Annica, annica, all compounded things are subject to dissolution,” without really confronting what it means.

Do we believe that we will dissolve? No. Not deep down in the root of the small self, because the small self plans to live forever. When we say that “Everything dies,” we mean everything dies but me. And we can get kind of fancy about this point: Everything dies, including my body (but not my awareness—not me). Everything is subject to dissolution, but something passes through to a new form and doesn’t ever go away (that’s me). In a thousand ways, most of them not entirely conscious, we hold on to the hope that something of this self, somehow, will remain, and we hold on to that even as everything we touch slides away like sand in running water.

Why should we pretend to more confidence than we feel? Everyone is a beginner when it comes to death. We can’t practice it. When my mother died, it was the very first time that my mother died, and I didn’t know how to do that, to be a daughter whose mother was dying, to be a daughter whose mother had ceased to exist. When my best friend died—when my teacher died—I didn’t know how to do it. Each death I’ve known has been the very first one of its kind. Even with experience—I know how grieving feels, I know the altered state of a vigil, I know a lot about that—I can’t entirely prepare. And when I die, it will be the first time this particular me dies, and I will be a beginner.

Yes, I know that we are all dying all the time. That’s what it means to be a compounded thing dissolving—this self, this moment, gives way to the next as the girl gives way to the woman who gives way to the crone. I know that the me of today is not the me of yesterday, and I was also taught that if you die once, you never need to die again. But the real teaching of that formula, the falling away of body and mind for a ceaseless moment, is that you are already dead. I know this, but I don’t think my body does.

Slay the demons of hope and fear. My teacher would say this to me at a time when I was knocking up against deepening anxiety. My stubborn refusal to submit to the meaning of that anxiety made me more anxious still. The stronger I resisted, the deeper my anxiety became, until I sank well into true fear. How could I slay that demon when I was afraid to walk out the door?

We need to talk about death bluntly, honestly, and often.

“Vanitas Life, Death, and Resurrection by Ezio Gutzemberg.

The original Pali word for aversion, dosa, is various and shaded. It can be translated as anger or hatred, denial, projection, distortion, aggression, repulsion, even disgust. That is how it can feel to talk about death, about our own death. But I want you to think about it and I want you to talk about it. Even if you have considered your own death deeply, how often do you talk about it? Do you talk about your private conflicts or confusion, your questions, your plans?

How do we begin? Begin with the fear. Begin with the resistance. We know the question. It is why we begin to practice in the first place: Why do we suffer? And we know the answer. It is why we keep practicing: We suffer because of change and resistance to change.

But knowing the answer does not stop the question from being asked, and knowing an answer today doesn’t mean we will remember the answer tomorrow. Ignorance is the first link in the twelve-fold chain of causation—ignorance of impermanence, of anicca, of anatta, of no-self. This chain feeds itself endlessly—our ignorance of the ephemeral nature of the self building a self over and over. The chain is broken only by the transformation of that first mistake, being ignorant about the compounded nature of the self, which is not separate or bounded at all.

What do you fear about death? Make a list. Be honest. Autopsy? Being alone? Pain? Loss of privacy? Do you fear soiling your bed? Do you fear needles? For what do you hope? Make a list. Be honest. Do you want to see it coming? Do you want to be asleep? Do you want to be very old?

Ask the question again. Why am I afraid? Because I will die. What does that mean? (Wait a minute. Will I die? Do I have to die?) Ask yourself: Are you ready to die? Don’t answer too quickly, because that last one is a doozy. Even people who have made great strides in accepting the fact of their own inevitable dissolution will be flooded with adrenaline when the headlights bear down. The body has its own hopes.

Talk about death. Talk about everything. Imagine it. Write a description of the scene of your death. Where are you? What do you see? What do you smell, taste, touch? Who is there? Are you inside or outside? Is it warm or cool? Is there music, or words?

Imagine it. Write it down. Then tell everyone who needs to know—your family and friends and teacher and doctor—what you want. Make a record of your wishes and don’t forget to decide how your body should be handled after you’re done with it. Make copies and pass them out.

Then tear it up. Let it go with all your heart. This will be the work of the rest of your life.

We can do all this. We can make a plan, buy a plot, fill out the advance directive, decide what music we want to hear as we go. But we can’t plan not to die. The essence of dying is the loss of control. This is the hardest part for many of us—not that death will happen, but that it will happen without our hand on the controls. It will happen as it happens, when it happens, where it happens, and chances are it won’t go according to plan. The only thing we can control, and only with practice, is how we face whatever happens.

These days it is common to talk about a “good death.” (There are many official, even government-issued, definitions of a good death.) A good death is usually defined as one where a person is comfortable and at peace.

For myself, I want to think about a right death, a death that fits the life I’m trying to live. Most deaths include what anyone might call good moments and bad moments, desired and undesired consequences. So it is with our lives, and so it is with death. Right deaths are all different; you can’t define the details. For me, it means a death unhidden—from me and from those who love me. It means a death met with grace and willingness when the time comes. Achieving this will be the work of the rest of my life.

If we can face it, recognizing the reality of death will transform our lives.
Flowers are beautiful because they are brief. Beauty is a measure of fragility and brevity and transformation, created in part by our awareness of the precious value of this moment—this moment is what we love. Death is utterly natural, shared by all; it is also heartbreaking. That equation isn’t dissonant; it’s the nature of love. With our eyes open to change, each thing we meet is luminous and sparkling. To love means to lose. To lose means to love. The last breath allows us to cherish another without reservation, holding nothing back.

Slay the demons, my teacher told me. That meant accepting my anxiety, my fear. It meant coming to see that hope and fear are one thing: fantasies of the unborn future. Hope pulls and fear pushes and together they keep us stuck in what has not happened, living a half-life of imaginary events. I exhausted myself on that mountain, until I gave up. Giving up was the key. Accepting the demons of hope and fear until they slew me, which was what my teacher had been saying all along.

The parable of the burning house told in the Lotus Sutra is a familiar one. The children do not know the house is on fire, so they won’t leave until their father tempts them with carts full of treasure. So we are with our own suffering, our ignorance. The Buddha offers us treasures, including one so great we couldn’t even imagine it.

Some years ago, I had a brief, vivid dream. I saw a room completely engulfed in flames, and several people were walking calmly through the room, smiling. One turned and looked at me and said, “I can’t tell you how safe I feel in this house.”

When I begin to truly accept myself as this compounded thing—a dewdrop, a bubble, a cloud—when I really believe for a moment that my precious me is a passing sigh in the oceanic cosmos of change, then I begin to find safety inside the burning house. I don’t need to escape if I know how to live inside it. Not needing to escape, I no longer need rewards. I just walk through it, aware of dissolving.

Complete Article HERE!

Goodbye and Good Journey

Buddhist funeral traditions around the world help both the dead and their loved ones let go and move on.

Funeral ceremony at Jigenji Soto Zen temple in Yamanashi, Japan.

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Final Ordination

At the heart of a Zen funeral is ordination. In the ceremony, the deceased is ritually ordained in the same way that living monks and nuns are. This is done because total dedication to spiritual life, of the kind undertaken by monastics, is seen as the natural endpoint of life, even if that wasn’t the case when the person was alive. Ordination is also seen as increasing the probability of a favorable rebirth.

To begin the funeral ceremony, a vigil is maintained by relatives for a day and a night while Zen priests chant from scripture and an altar is prepared in the household. Attending mourners offer okoden, or “condolence money,” to the family of the deceased. The centerpiece of the altar is a portrait of the deceased, alongside candles and offerings of flowers and fruit.

The dead’s ordination is the same as a living nun’s or monk’s. The precept master asks the body three times if the deceased will observe and embody the five precepts. Where a living monk or nun would offer their vow, the corpse’s silence is interpreted as acceptance.

The deceased is then given a Buddhist name and presented with a lineage chart connecting them with enlightened masters stretching all the way back to the Buddha himself. The family of the newly ordained is provided with their own tablet with the deceased’s Buddhist name on it, and the tablets are either kept in the local temple or displayed in the family’s household altar afterward.

Some Zen funerals also feature a shout which is meant to sever the deceased’s bond to the earthly plane. Those who have attended such ceremonies say this also provides a moment of catharsis for the mourners. The funeral concludes with the cremation of the deceased’s body.

What, then, are Zen funerals like for those who are already ordained? The funeral of a monk or nun can take different forms, both long (involving a procession including the deceased’s robes and lineage papers) or very short. The funeral for the founder of the Soto Zen, Dogen, is famously said to have consisted of just a short moment of chanting by his most senior disciple.

Sharing Merit with the Dead

White cloth, a symbol of virtue, marks a Theravadan funeral in the Sri Lankan tradition. Fringed palm fronds and white banners, often with a picture of the deceased, mark the way to the home of the deceased. A white banner declares in large writing: “All conditioned things have the nature of decay.” In the house, mourners in white are greeted by relatives of the dead, the men dressed in sarongs of white cloth and white shirts, the women in white saris. Having been washed by family members, the body of the dead is also attired in white.

The wake, during which the deceased’s family greets and feeds the guests, lasts for several days, which allows those traveling to reach the funeral house. Guests sometimes bring gifts of food for the family.

The funeral ceremony truly begins with the arrival of the monks. They enter the front room of the funeral house, where their feet are washed by a male member of the household. The monastics are guided to chairs draped in white cloth and the deceased’s family kneels before them in respect.

Then the coffin is brought to the front room, or remains in a tent in the front yard if there isn’t room in the house, and a salutation chant to the Buddha is offered, followed by the chants of the three refuges and the five precepts. Parcels of white cloth are presented to the monks, and the mourners chant, “We offer the ‘cloth of the dead’ to the community of monks.” This gift of cloth has a practical origin. Monks in Sri Lanka, as elsewhere in Theravadan societies, rely on the community to feed and clothe them. Payment for presiding over the ceremony comes in the form of white cloth.

In this merit-sharing culture, the Theravadan funeral also features a bowl filled with water by the deceased’s family until it overflows, representing giving merit to the dead so their rebirth will be a promising one. As the water is being poured, the monks chant: “Just as rivers full of water fill the ocean full / Even so does what is given here benefit the dead.”

After a sermon based on Pali scripture is delivered by the senior monk, the mourners chant “Sadhu!” three times, an expression of gratitude connected to the attainment of arahatship. Speeches by family and neighbors follow and then the coffin is conveyed to the burial ground or crematorium under a white umbrella.

Two important dates continue the remembrance ceremonies after the day of the funeral: Mataka-bana, when a monk returns a week later to deliver a sermon to the family and other mourners, and Thun masa-dana, an alms-giving three months after the funeral to support the monastics who officiate at funerals and other ceremonies in the community.

Guiding the Dead Through the Bardo

A Tibetan thangka painting of the pure land of the primordial buddha Amitabha, known as Amida in Japanese.

The Tibetan approach to death and dying is guided by the teachings of the Bardo Thodol, popularly known in the West as The Tibetan Book of the Dead. This text describes what happens to us in the bardo, an intermediate period or gap between death and rebirth. During this time, it is possible to advise and help the deceased so they can achieve enlightenment or at least a favorable rebirth.

In Tibetan Buddhism, there are a number of meditations and rituals that can be performed after someone dies or during their dying process. These include reading them the Book of the Dead over a forty-nine-day period to guide them through the various stages of the bardo journey, and powa practice, in which an accomplished master can help the dying person transfer their consciousness directly into an enlightened state.

The sukhavati ceremony is traditionally performed shortly after a person’s death. In this ceremony, their loved ones, friends, and fellow practitioners, guided by a Buddhist teacher, pray they will be reborn in Sukhavati, the Western Paradise or Land of Ultimate Bliss. This is the enlightened pure land of the primordial buddha Amitabha in which they are free of all karma, defilements, and suffering.

In this ceremony, the congregation generates loving-kindness and compassion toward the deceased, who may be suffering confusion and fear in the bardo. They urge the deceased to let completely go of their previous identity and karma and ask the buddhas and bodhisattvas to guide them to the pure land. Here is a prayer that is typically recited in Sukhavati ceremonies in the Kagyu school of Tibetan Buddhism:

Wonderful Buddha of Limitless Light [Amitabha], to his right the Lord of Great Compassion and to his left the Bodhisattva of Great Power, surrounded by an infinite retinue of buddhas and bodhisattvas.
The joy and happiness is limitless and wonderful in this pure land called Dewachen [Sukhavati].
As soon as this life has passed away, without the diversion of other births,
May [name of the deceased] be born there and thus behold the face of Amitabha.
All buddhas and bodhisattvas of the ten directions, please grant your blessing that the wish expressed in this prayer be accomplished without hindrance.

In some versions of this ceremony, a photograph of the deceased is burned at the climax of the ritual so the deceased does not hold on to their former identity. As the photograph becomes ash, the prayers conclude and in the silence, the teacher intones the single syllable HUM, the mantra of great compassion. All pray their loved one will take the excellent opportunity of the bardo state to enter Sukhavati, the paradise that is freedom from karma and suffering.

Taking Refuge in Amida Buddha

The funeral rituals of Jodo Shinshu Buddhism, as practiced in the Buddhist Churches of America, remind practitioners that through taking refuge in Amida Buddha, the central figure in Pure Land Buddhism, one can transcend time and space, and join together in the pure land as buddhas before returning to samsara to help others. In this way, death is understood to be a beginning rather than an end, and funeral rites offer comfort, solemnity, and the opportunity to express gratitude to the surviving family and friends.

After a person’s death, the minister is contacted by the family and the Makuragyo (literally “pillow service,” or bedside service) is performed. The home altar is decorated with white cloth and flowers, as is the body. The minister will chant one of the gathas from the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life, such as Juseige or Sanbutsuge.

Often, relatives live too far away for the body to remain long enough for them to travel to the funeral, so a cremation is done and the funeral takes place with a photo and urn. The funeral service itself begins with the ringing of the calling bell, reminding listeners of the impermanence of all things, an important remembrance in times of death.

Next, the presentation of the Buddhist name occurs. If the dying person has not already received a Buddhist name, the chanting of Kisamboge, by Shan-tao, helps to confirm the person; for those who have already received their name, the chanting is considered a rededication.

Then there is a chanting of Shoshinge, by Shinran, during which guests come up to burn incense, symbolic of the purification of one’s heart and mind to receive the truths of the Buddha. After this, there is an opportunity for eulogies by friends and family, followed by a dharma teaching and the recitation of Rennyo’s “White Ashes” from the minister, which concludes with the line: “By so understanding the meaning of death, we shall come to fully appreciate the meaning of this life, which is unrepeatable and thus to be treasured above all else.”

Traditionally, the service ends with some words of acknowledgment and a meal afterward, held at the temple or a nearby restaurant.

Complete Article HERE!

What you should know about a Taoist Funeral Service

Taoists believe in concentrating more on health and longevity than on the afterlife. In Singapore, Taoist funeral services differ according to the language group of the dearly departed. The goal particularly in early Taoism was to achieve eternity, with the practice and cultivation of several tasks classified as Neidan and Waidan. Moreover, the Chinese traditionally avoid talking about death there is very little written about Taoist Funerals. Besides all, Taoist funerals becoming more simplified with each passing generation.

Taoism, for most of Chinese history, co-existed with Buddhism and Confucianism. There is therefore some influence from Buddhism in the Taoist practice of some Singaporean families. For the funeral, both Monks and Taoist Priest performing rites for the deceased during a Taoist Funeral wake.

Taoist Funeral Ceremonies

Preparation of the Body

The first thing that happens for any death in a Taoist family, is the preparation of the body of the departed soul. Family members gathered and clean the body with a wet towel dusted with talcum powder. Afterward, they dress the deceased in their nicest clothing, usually something white, black, brown, or blue. But never use red because it could cause the deceased’s spirit to become a ghost.

After that, a yellow cloth is used to covers the face and a blue cloth covers their body before putting them in the casket. Mirrors must have coverings so no one sees the deceased’s image, as this could cause another death.

A white cloth is then placed over the doorway of the house, and a gong is placed to the left of the door for women and the right for men. A sacred ceremony also takes place before the funeral. Using a sacred lamp signifies the light of wisdom, while two candles express sunlight and moonlight. There’s also tea, rice, and water. Finally, red, yellow, green, white, and black fruit means the five elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. They arrange the fruit on plates and fragrance burns in the middle.

Taoist Funeral Service

As far as the Funeral Services Singapore is concerned, At a Taoist funeral, smells of perfume and flowers and photos of the deceased surround the area. During the service, a priest chants manuscripts while others play drums, symbols, and woodwind instruments. Then, the priest circles a fire where nine tiles rest to represent the levels of the underworld. Then the priest waves a sword to ward off evil spirits and breaks the tiles to free the deceased from the underworld.

Funeral Feast

After the burial or cremation, there’s a funeral feast with a seat left for the deceased’s spirit. Since the number eight rhymes with the Chinese word meaning good fortune, they serve eight dishes. They eat sugar water dessert first, which is a sweet soup, so it’s a sweet and happy celebration. The other dishes usually contain fish and other meat, but never beef or horsemeat.

Ward off Evil Spirits

To ward off evil spirits, everyone gets a yellow piece of paper to the funeral. The paper has their name, address, and birthday on it. Then after the funeral, they burn it in their doorway and cross over it while it burns. It says that this ritual is done to stops any spirits from chasing them home and bringing bad luck.

Also, during the funeral, everyone needs to be cautious of evil spirits. Whenever the casket is open or people move the body, everyone should turn away or may leave.

A Funeral Gift

Funeral invitees give the deceased’s family a white envelope with money to help with cremation payments. However, the money amount should be odd because an even amount means immense happiness. Along with a money envelope, they also give a funeral gift. However, it should only be one gift because two gifts suggest more than one death. The deceased’s family also gives guests a traditional funeral envelope with a one-dollar coin and fruit candy.

Funeral Director in a Taoist Funeral Practice

In Taoist practice, there is some form of influence of Buddhism and funeral services are aware of the Taoist practices regarding funerals. There is essentially a funeral director who plays a key role in the funeral service of the Taoists. The Funeral director not only offers supervision services but also has expertise in the practice of Singapore Taoist funeral services as well. Besides that, the director offers family members advice and guidance to ensure the smooth process of the funeral.

Other than just providing the arrangements, a funeral director, experienced in Taoist Funeral practices and customs will be able to provide advice and guidance to the family to ensure their loved ones are properly honored with a meaningful and dignified funeral.

Post-Funeral

Taoist funeral ceremonies last for 3 days, 5 days, or 7 days commonly. After the burial, the ritual states that the family must have a meal for the guests who visited the funeral. Some families prefer to restrict the number of courses in this meal to the lucky number seven. Afterward, guests are offered a red packet filled with money, and everyone must burn the clothes they wore to the funeral. The funeral does not mark the end of the rituals, as families are expected to mourn for 49 days with prayers occurring every seven days.

Taoist Beliefs

In addition to prescribed rituals, Taoism also teaches that several actions are taboo during burial ceremonies and many other activities may have negative consequences. It is prohibited to dress the body in red clothing, as some Taoists believe it will cause the spirit to come back as a ghost. Similarly, Children and grandchildren of the deceased must not cut their hair for 49 days after the funeral. Some believe that people who see the deceased’s coffin reflected in a mirror will soon have a death in their family, and so all mirrors are removed from the house while the coffin is inside.

Summoning of Soul

This is a method done by calling out the deceased’s name, in the hopes of the return of the soul, so that the loved one might be resurrected.

Ritual Cleansing

An act of acquiring water from Earth goddess that is usually done by the elder son, to signify the ‘letting go of earthly attachments, and to clean the deceased’s spirit for the next world to come.

Burning of Paper beside Coffin

This serves as an entry pass to go smoothly to the otherworld, where the paper is to be burnt piece by piece.

Chanting

One of the main rituals includes chanting to break hell, reciting most ofutras, and asking for repentance of sins. The priests will sing songs and to bridge them the deceased to crossover from earth to heaven.

Some other Rituals in Taoism

Encoffin Service

This ritual during funeral service is done by placing items inside the casket such as the incense and joss paper to be used by the deceased on his/her journey to the other world.

Placing of Pearl

The meaning of this activity signifies that the deceased have a rebirth with a better life. In the past, only the Kings or Royals family members was entitled to such practice but now they have opened it to everyone.

Offering of Food

This belief during funeral service implies that whether spirit or human, both are equal beings. For Buddhist funeral service, the food to be offered should be vegetarian-based. For good karma, a part of the grieving process will be to avoid killing innocent animals, nor digesting meat or seafood dishes. After that, red, yellow, green, white, and black fruit symbolize the five elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. They arrange the fruit on plates and incense burns in the middle.

Wake and Vigil

The children and offspring are to stay awake, pray and hope that the deceased will come back to life.

Red String

For guests, a promising practice during funeral service, wait for it to come off naturally, but must remove it before entering a home.

49 Days Ritual

As per the teachings of Earth Store Bodhisattva, to create merits, generous actions will be done and dedicated to the deceased in the next 49 days, to rescue them from their sufferings.

100th Day Ritual

After a hundred days, the comprehensive departure from this world is ended. This is also the dateline for the completion of the tomb construction. Complete prayers are offered to the divinity overseeing the tomb.

1st/3rd Anniversary

The 1st year consists of 12 months, while the 3rd year is the 24th month of the date of death. Post-funeral ceremonies are observed to symbolize the unity of the deceased with the ancestors.

Conclusion

Taoists believe in focusing more on health and longevity than on the afterlife. The goal especially in early Taoism was to achieve immortality, with the practice and cultivation of various tasks categorized as Neidan and Waidan. There are many different denominations within Taoism, rites, and rituals for the deceased can differ. Taoist Funerals typically last 3, 5, or 7 days.

Complete Article HERE!

‘I Run a Death Cafe’

By Megan Mooney

I’ve been interested in death my entire life. I was going to be a mortician, and then I took a grief and loss class in college and switched degrees. I’m now a social worker. But I had always wanted to do something on a macro level to help my community around issues of death and dying.

In 2012, I was completing my social work practicum at a hospice and the team leader there wanted me to do some community involvement work. She told me she’d read an article about a “death cookie” group. I talked to my boss and she explained the correct name for the organization was Death Cafe and told me to get in touch with Lizzy Miles, who had started the cafes in the U.S. that year, after reading about them in the U.K.

It happened to be around the same time my uncle had died of cancer; he’d had a horrible death. So I really wanted to create a group where people could come and talk about death and educate each other. After I emailed Lizzy, she called me and we talked for hours.

She helped me get my first death cafe started in February 2013 at a coffee shop in town. The cafes were starting in LA, Atlanta and New York, but I’m in a small town called St. Joseph in Midwest Missouri, so there were none around my area at the time. At my first death cafe and for the five after, I had two women who would drive 7 hours each way to attend. That showed me how much people needed this safe place to talk about death and dying.

We have coffee and cake at each session and my first cake said “Missouri’s First Death Cafe” on it. I laugh about it now because I got so much cr*p for that cake. I went to a big grocery store and told the lady there that I wanted little headstones on the cake. She got mad and told me it was a family business. I had to explain to her what I actually needed the cake for.

But people still thought we were going there to “drink the Kool-Aid” and die. Before my first death cafe a local hairdresser said that an older woman had read a news article about it and was talking about how it was a morbid group getting together to do God knows what. A lot of people still think it’s a morbid group.

Every death cafe is different in terms of who attends and what the attendees talk about, but we all follow the same rules: It’s not a grief or counselling service, we are non-profit, the cafes are held in an accessible, respectful and confidential space and they have no intention of leading people to any conclusion, product or course of action. We also always offer drinks and nourishing cakes! Having food is very important. It is life sustaining and we believe it helps people to feel more open to talking about death.

There were about 20 people at my first death cafe and their ages ranged from 25 to 70. It’s for adults, so 18 and older but I’ll have people of all ages; the oldest attendee I’ve had was 85. But I’ve only ever had one person come who was terminally ill.

When I host, I have four or five people at each table and at the beginning I ask everyone to start with what brought them here to talk about death and dying. That seems to be the only thing I need to ask.

My dad and aunt came to my first death cafe. My father never talked about death and my aunt hadn’t been able to talk about my uncle’s recent death without crying, so I didn’t know how it would be. But as I was looking around, my dad was laughing with his group and my aunt was laughing with hers. I sat down and heard my aunt talking about my uncle’s death without crying for the first time.

The following week my dad called me and was talking about how you’re not supposed to make any big decisions within the first year of a loss. He then told me he’d learned that from the ladies at his table at the death cafe.

My dad came to every single death cafe I held after that, except one, and he planned his funeral and all his funeral songs. He died three years ago, but his death was easier for me because we’d had all these conversations about it. He talked all the time about how much the death cafe helped him face his own death.

Death cafes run all over the world
Megan Mooney has been running death cafes in St. Joseph, Missouri since 2013.

A theme that often comes up is relationships and death. People will talk about losses they have had and how it impacted them. Everybody has experienced a death in their life and most of them have never really talked about it. I had a lady who came in, she was probably in her late 50s and she was really shaky at the beginning. At the end she came and thanked me and said that she had never been able to talk about death with anybody before because in her family it was a “taboo”.

People also talk about what they want at the end of their life. There can be a superstition that talking about death brings it closer, so people avoid talking about it at all costs. But when you don’t plan for the end of your life it can be harmful to your loved ones, or add to their grief. My dad making plans helped me tremendously and it was cathartic for him too.

While there are sometimes tears, most death cafes are full of people laughing and having a good time. I believe that thinking and talking about death helps us to be our authentic selves. It helps us to take our mask off and not take things for granted. We’re often in such denial about death that we hurry through life and don’t appreciate the people in it. At these cafes, you get together with strangers and you’re talking about an intimate topic that most people can’t even talk about with their family. It brings you closer and helps improve your relationships with people.

At the end of each death cafe I ask attendees what their “Aha!” moment has been and I hand out surveys. One of the questions is: “Did your views on death change as a result of the death cafe?” It’s crazy because almost every time people answer something like: “My views on death didn’t change but my views on life have changed.”

When COVID first hit we decided the death cafes had to be online. But it ended up being a blessing in some ways because it meant we could meet with people in different countries all over the world at the same time. Now we’re back meeting in person, but we do have cafes online too.

Death cafes began in the U.K.
Megan Mooney first started running death cafes in 2013. She has now run 45 death cafes with hundreds of attendees.

I’ve run about 45 death cafes since 2013 and the smallest group I’ve ever had was still 10 people. I’ve also had companies ask me to host death cafes for their staff. I had one life insurance company with 1,500 staff and there was a woman there whose son had died by suicide. When I asked if anyone had any “aha!” moments, she stood up and shared how she felt about her colleagues’ reaction to her since she had returned to work.

Being involved with Death Café has taught me to love with my whole heart and that nothing in life is permanent. I’ve learned how to accept change, which can be hard. And, I’ve realized that relationships matter the most in life: my relationship with my daughter and spending time with her. That used to include my dad too, he was my best friend.

As a leader for Death Café, I have learned tremendous lessons from attendees and our followers on social media. I’ve learned that so many things in life are trivial. I don’t really get upset any more. Our views on death usually inform the way we live. When you start to come to terms with your own mortality, it can push you to really live your life and to be the best version of yourself. If you look at life from the vantage point of death you can see how beautiful it is.

Complete Article HERE!

Seattle startup Lalo is latest ‘death tech’ innovator, with an app to share and collect stories and more

by

Juan Medina first considered the idea for his new startup back in 2003, after the death of his father, when his wife asked him to tell a story about his dad and Medina realized he hadn’t known him all that well. Stories, jokes, recipes and more were either lost or scattered across various friends and family, Medina said.

The idea resurfaced in the last couple years as Medina’s own daughter, now 9, said she never really met her grandparents. Medina decided to launch his startup Lalo — also his dad’s nickname — with the mission of giving people a private, digital space to connect, share stories and hold on to precious memories.

Currently operating as a small, private beta, Lalo is an app that facilitates the collection of digital content such as images, video, voice, text and more. Away from the noise and common pitfalls of traditional social media platforms, groups are intentionally kept small to foster increased trust and privacy. Imagine family members gathering to collect the best recipes in one space or share images that might have been lost to an unseen photo album.

“It’s a space to capture those more important family memories, the Sunday phone call from the grandkids to the grandparents where they can say, ‘Grandpa, tell me about a time … ,’  Medina said.

Lalo plans to make money by charging $25 a year for a subscription to the ad-free app, with multiple people being able to have access to a space for that price. Medina said the idea is optimized for smaller groups of 10 to 15 people and over-biased on privacy.

“You’re not going to get pinged by your middle-school friend, like, ‘Hey, join my account,’” he said.

Medina is also working on securing the permanence of the data, potentially with a blockchain solution or other ways to archive the material for the long, digital haul. He views his competitors as traditional social media such as Facebook where people are trading images and stories today, or more story-focused offerings such StoryCorps on NPR, or StoryWorth.

The idea brushes up against the wave of innovation falling into the “death tech” category, where startups are reimagining everything around traditional end-of-life and funeral industry practices with ideas involving body composting, cremation services and casket purchases.

Lalo users don’t have to focus on a recent or impending loss of a loved one, but Medina does believe the app can be a helpful tool in the grieving process.

Before trying his hand at his own startup, Medina spent a little over eight years at Amazon working on assorted tech, building things from scratch and understanding how to build things quickly. The decision to leave and start Lalo came with some apprehension.

“I’m married, I have a daughter, we have a mortgage. Walking away from that steady income that I’ve had my whole life was scary,” Medina said. “But it’s been amazing. I’ve loved it. It’s been great doing what I love, something I’m passionate about.”

And interest from different angel investors as well as funding from Lalo’s first institutional investor has eased some concerns about the long-term viability of the idea. Columbus, Ohio-based VC firm Overlooked Ventures announced earlier this month that Lalo was its first investment, and founding partner Janine Sickmeyer wrote of the startup, “No amount of technology can ease the pain of losing someone you love, but having better ways to grieve can help people cope and stay connected to mourn the loss together.”

Medina didn’t share how much money Lalo raised in pre-seed funding. The company incorporated at the end of 2020 and got moving in March after Medina left Amazon.

Lalo currently employs eight people and was among 30 startups selected for Washington Technology Industry Association’s sixth Founder Cohort Program, announced in August. The plan is to come out of beta in early 2022.

Complete Article HERE!

What is a death doula?

How trained companions help people face their last days

Death doulas can arrange pre-funeral ceremonies with their clients, in a bid to relive happy memories and get some closure.

From organising living funerals to offering grief support, these specialists aim to create a ‘death-positive landscape’

By Lavina Dsouza

Arlena Marie from Arizona, Texas, decided to take a leap and ask in Side Hustle Nation, a Facebook group, how to become a “death doula” and market herself as one.

While some were aghast at hearing such a profession exists, others had their interest piqued because, morbid as it sounds, every person on the planet is a potential customer.

The word doula originates from the ancient Greek term doule and translates as a person who serves. Birth doulas are now common and, like midwives, provide services during the birthing journey. A death doula, on the other hand, offers emotional support to people who believe they’re nearing the end of their life and would like to make the days count.

Death is the single certainty in life, yet people continue to fear it instead of preparing for it. I wanted to create a death-positive landscape.
Avril Carr, death doula from Al Ain

While professional moirologists (also known as “crying ladies” in some cultures) have been around for centuries and are hired to wail at funerals, the pandemic has brought death doulas to the fore, as an alternative form of mourner.

Avril Carr is a death doula from Al Ain. She trained as a hypnobirthing teacher, breastfeeding supporter and paediatric sleep consultant, and realised that while a wealth of knowledge is available for the birthing process, the reality of death remains largely ignored.

“We’re suspicious of death, which is interesting because not everyone will give birth, and yet there are countless ways in which mothers and fathers are encouraged to prepare for birth. Death is the single certainty in life, yet people continue to fear it instead of preparing for it. I wanted to create a death-positive landscape,” Carr tells The National.

Having a calm presence to see people through difficult moments and celebrate any glimpses of beauty together is a much-needed trait for death doulas. Carr says the feeling of fulfilment when helping someone with death anxiety is an extremely rewarding experience.

“We care for clients in ways that are personally meaningful and affirming to them. Our focus is assisting people with planning, preparing and processing,” says Francesca Arnoldy, a death doula from Burlington in the US, who also developed the end-of-life doula training programme for The Robert Larner, MD College of Medicine at the University of Vermont.

The most heartbreaking thing is to hear someone say: ‘I wish I had known about you sooner’
Lala Langtry-White, doula

Unlike hospice nurses and other end-of-life support providers, death doulas are emotional companions first and foremost, and must be able to customise their services based on what a person is looking to do to help ease the process.

Planning could involve creating schedules to meet others, having conversations that help with the transition, organising a pre-funeral while the person is still alive and sorting through belongings. Some may even want to make a scrapbook or involve family members to help them through the grief.

The amount of grief and uncertainty the pandemic brought has made many – both the ill and the relatively healthy – want to discuss death and have all their affairs in order, be they practical or emotional.

While stay-at-home measures were enforced in many places across the world, death doulas, like most others, turned to technology and came up with creative ways to virtually bring families together during tough times, making people realise they needed tools and information to bolster their sense of readiness.

Jessica Mendivil, a death doula from California, developed free community calls and training for families to help them cope with the loss of loved ones and general lack of preparedness.

Carr realised that while she missed being physically present, she could still impart training virtually on setting the death space, which included different ways to record one’s legacy and sit vigil when death was near.

Small and Mighty Babies, run by Lala Langtry-White and Joanne Hanson-Halliwell in the UAE, set up and continues to offer an online Love Through Loss community, plus monthly support evenings and access to voluntary bereavement doula support and counselling with The LightHouse Arabia.

It’s a lucrative job, but professionals know it can be a vulnerable and intense journey. Death is still not an easy subject for most people and perhaps never will be, but Langtry-White says the most heartbreaking thing is to hear someone say: “I wish I had known about you sooner.”

Complete Article HERE!

Four things you might not know about your digital afterlife

What happens to your data after you die?

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1 Your digital footprint will one day become your digital remains

If a complete stranger were granted access to every scrap of recorded information about you that exists in the world, would they be able to stand up at your funeral and deliver a personal, moving eulogy that captured the essence of you? Thanks to the modern digital world, the likely answer is yes.

If you’re not active on social media, you might think that you’d be leaving behind very little in the way of a meaningful or personally telling digital legacy. Social media, however, are merely the tip of the little toe when it comes to our digital footprints. Anyone who has access to your devices and accounts after you die – including all the material you never intended to share – could tell quite a lot about you.

Formerly ephemeral communications are now comprehensively stored in searchable, time- and date-stamped emails and message threads. Once untrackable movements are logged by our smartphones, smartwatches, and facial recognition technologies in public spaces. Internet of Things (IoT) devices like video doorbells and virtual assistants are filling our homes.

And our internal desires, thoughts, and feelings can be discerned by innumerable others through our search histories, websites we’ve visited, and the documents and photos we store in cloud accounts and our data-storage devices.

Little wonder that the algorithms seem to know us better than we know ourselves – in this hyperconnected and electronically surveilled world, we are constantly feeding them our data.

A 2019 survey found that 1 in 4 people in the UK want all of these data to be removed from the internet when they die, but no legal or practical mechanisms exist for this to occur. There is no magical switch that is thrown, no virtual worms that traverse the internet nibbling away all traces of us when we die.

Physical death does not equal digital death. Our personal data is simply too voluminous, spread too far and wide throughout the digital world, and too under the control of innumerable third parties to simply call it back home to ‘bury’ it.

2 Social media are becoming digital cemeteries

Dedicated digital cemeteries do exist, the oldest being The World Wide Cemetery, founded in 1995, where people can still visit online graves and leave virtual flowers and tributes. Memorial gardens are dotted around the virtual world Second Life.

Many funeral homes now offer online condolence books, and some physical cemeteries even feature graves with digital components such as video screens or QR codes affixed to traditional headstones. Scores of digital legacy companies appear regularly, often going out of business shortly thereafter.

None of these digital cemeteries can hold a memorial candle, though, to the platforms that never intended to become online places of rest in the first place: sites like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Facebook has been memorialising profiles in one form or another since the Virginia Tech massacre in 2007, after which users pleaded with the site not to delete profiles that had become memorials for the lost.

Scholars at the Oxford Internet Institute have estimated that the number of deceased users on Facebook could be as high as 4.9 billion by 2100. The dead are also mounting up on Instagram, which also memorialises profiles, and Twitter may follow suit. In November 2019, Twitter cancelled an imminent inactive-account cull in response to an outcry from bereaved people who feared the loss of their deceased loved ones’ Twitter feeds.

Social media companies may be actively trying to work out what to do about the data of the deceased on their servers, but dead people’s information is all over the internet, across all sorts of websites and apps. Many – perhaps even most – of the entities that manage our data are not planning well for the end from the beginning, so information can stick around online for an indeterminate period of time.

We should never assume, however, that online is forever. Disappearance of online data is inevitable through deliberate culls, accidental data loss, and companies going bust.

3 People are struggling to make plans for their digital legacies

It’s not only organisations that are flummoxed by what to do about digital legacies. It’s us, the people who are accumulating them. Less than half of adults in the UK have made a traditional will, and far fewer have considered what will happen to their digital one.

In the Digital Legacy Association’s 2017 Digital Death Survey, 83 per cent of respondents had made no plans at all for their digital legacies. A handful of people – 15.2 per cent – had made their wishes known for their Facebook accounts using the Legacy Contact feature. Legacy Contact allows you to appoint a trusted person to manage your memorialised account after you die, and you can also stipulate if you want the account deleted.

Whether instructions left on Legacy Contact or any other online platform would hold up in UK courts, however, is another matter. As in many realms of modern life, this is an area where laws and regulations are not keeping pace with technology. GDPR and the UK’s Data Protection Act 2018 don’t comment on what should happen to the digitally stored information of the dead, who are no longer entitled to data protection.

Service providers are understandably reluctant to hand over account contents or access to next of kin, especially when that’s likely to compromise other (living) people’s privacy.

Laws governing wills and probate don’t help much either when it comes to digital material. To bequeath something to someone in the UK it has to be tangible or valuable, and your social media profiles might not be judged to be either. In addition, you can’t pass on what you don’t actually own in the first place.

You do not own your social media profiles. Even if you’d like to, you cannot pass on an iTunes or Kindle library, since you have only purchased a license to watch, listen or read while you’re alive. The vast majority of your online accounts and their contents are non-transferable: one account, one user.

It may be a while before coherent, enforceable systems are instituted to govern what should happen to the data of the deceased. Until then, the companies to whom we entrust our data when we’re alive largely decide what happens to it upon death and who can access it.

In this legal and regulatory void, we can only make arrangements as best we can. For sentimental and practical material that might be valuable to our loved ones, we need to leave behind instructions for how to access it or – even better – back it up in secure but accessible formats that are not under the control of online service providers. In the not-too-distant future, digital estate planning may be a career all its own, or at least a necessary component of an existing profession.

4 It is impossible to predict how digital legacies will be meaningful to the bereaved

Our expectations that ‘normal’ grief will follow predictable, orderly stages is encouraged by our algorithmic environment. If you type ‘stages of…’ into a search engine, that engine will likely suggestion completion with ‘grief’. If you type ‘grief’, the engine will likely suggest ‘stages of’.

Despite what you and the algorithms might think, however, bereavement is actually incredibly, spectacularly idiosyncratic. Just as every relationship we have in life is unique, each bereavement is particular too. Despite dominating the popular discourse for the latter half of the 20th Century, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ famous grief stages – which were actually based upon qualitative research done with dying people, not bereaved people – boast little empirical support.

Across cultures and millennia, people have continued bonds with their dead in various ways, and we cannot predict what digital artifacts will be important in helping a bereaved person feel a thread of connection to those gone before.

For every person that relies upon a memorialised Facebook profile in their grief, there will be another that wishes it would just disappear. A preserved Twitter profile might be an absolute lifeline to friends, but the family might want it removed, perhaps imagining it’s not important to anyone. There is no rule book for what should and should not be important to someone in grief.

An astonishing and unpredictable variety of digital artifacts have been reported to me as being sentimentally significant to bereaved people. The digital recording of her husband’s heartbeat, stored in iTunes on a widow’s phone. The way that a woman’s brother organised and named his files on his laptop, giving her a window into how he thought and reasoned. A spam email from a woman’s deceased friend whose account was hacked – even though she knew it came from a hacker, she didn’t want to erase it, because it was his name in her inbox. A mother’s search history on her laptop, revealing to her daughter what she was thinking about in the last days of her life.

And finally, Google Street View, haunted by those who are no longer at that address. There is dad, watering the front lawn. There is a fondly remembered pet, peeking out the window of the house. There is grandma, sitting on the porch where she always did, waiting for the school bus to bring her grandchildren home. Even Google Earth is full of ghosts.

Complete Article HERE!