In yoga I practice death when I lie prone in a pose called corpse.
The breath leaves my being, stays gone, and then rolls back in like the sun. Filling . . . until death again invites my breath to depart.
Death. I've never feared it. I'm sure it's because my beloved grandmother spoke often of meeting God with an arresting zeal.
Other theories have influenced me as well. Particularly the one that suggests we carefully construct our lives ahead of time. Our key encounters, the driving passions, the ordeals.
If true, then death becomes, simply, a cycle ended. Followed by a return to a realm or home-base where one reflects and reviews.
But what is this Home? Is it the promised bliss and ecstasy of heaven? Why is it that we don’t wonder about it all more often?
And then there’s the much-discussed light, seen during near death experiences. This has always intrigued me as well. But a man I admire has said not to go to the light; that it is a deception; a trick that causes humans to cycle through, once again, in the 3rd dimension. He said not to be frightened of the dark. He said to embrace it.