How we die: the Tibetan Buddhist view
Dear Readers,
Last year my German publisher Petra Michel of Aquamarin asked if I would be willing write a short booklet helping people to deal with a dying pet. A blog I wrote on this subject years ago was quite popular, as was advice I shared in my book ‘Buddhist for Pet Lovers.’ Petra is eager to share this advice with German readers.
I have willingly accepted her offer, gathered up material from that original blog as well as other sources, and have just written material for the new booklet.
I envisage three sections, the first one being a description of the death process according to Tibetan Buddhism, which applies to all living beings whether humans or other animals. In the second I offer specific suggestions on how to help. And a third section provides support practices.
Today I am sharing the introduction and first section with you. I have tried to keep things as clear and simple as possible, as well as to deal with questions that arise along the way.
For those of you new to this, I hope you find it helpful. To old Buddhist hands, familiar with the concepts, if you have any editing suggestions, please let me know. I am still at draft stage!
I plan sharing part two, specific things to help pet lovers through this difficult process, in the next month or so.
As always, I really value your feedback and suggestions!
Introduction
There are few greater kindnesses we can offer our beloved pets than to support them through a peaceful death. This short manual provides guidance on how we approach this from a Buddhist perspective.
Why may Buddhism help? There are several reasons. The first is that Buddhism understands that all beings possess consciousness. It is not only we humans who are sentient beings, but rather this is a quality we share with other animals.
Importantly, the death process is frequently traversed by advanced Buddhist meditators, and we are both open and interested in discussing the detail. In such a way, our tradition is a unique source from which to seek guidance on the death process for all living beings.
What if I am not a Buddhist, you may wonder? If I’m not familiar with Buddhist ways of thinking, how relevant will any of this be? Most Westerners who come to Buddhism are surprised to find that many ‘Buddhist’ concepts are, in fact, ideas we have long accepted. “I’ve always thought that!” was a recurring, home-coming experience for me, as I know it is for many others.
What’s more, Buddhism is wonderfully pragmatic: if you find something that’s useful, use it. If you don’t, leave it to the side. The point is not about labels and concepts, and certainly not about whether you are or wish to become a Buddhist, but about having tools to support loved ones through the most important transitions of their lives.
The importance of our presence
The biggest way that Buddhist guidelines differ from those I’ve encountered elsewhere is the active importance of our role in supporting loved ones through death.
According to materialist and theocentric approaches, there is little we can do to help a dying loved one besides tending to their physical comfort: they are moving on from this world and what happens next to their mind or soul is completely out of our hands. To a great extent we are passive by-standers whose focus, when there is nothing more to be done, quite naturally turns to our own feelings of loss.
Buddhism suggests that the state of mind of a being during physical death is of the greatest importance, and there are things we can do – and avoid – to offer them a peaceful passing. What’s more for up to seven weeks afterwards, the subtle consciousness of that being will be drawn back, through force of habit and mutual bonds, to much-loved people and places. During this period too we can continue to exert a highly positive influence on our what happens next to our loved one.
In such ways, Buddhism offers practices that are both benevolent and empowering at a time when we may all benefit.
What continues after death?
In our society, there are two mainstream models describe what happens when we die. On the one hand, the materialistic model suggests that matter is all that exists, and that because our brain equals our mind, when the brain dies, so does consciousness.
Traditional religions teach that each of us has a soul which separates from the body at death and goes to heaven or hell for all eternity. Whether or not our pets and other animals possess souls, however, is a matter of debate.
Buddhism presents a third view which applies to all sentient beings, human or animal, and which is consistent across all the various lineages: each of us possesses consciousness at both ‘gross’ and ‘subtle’ levels. Our usual perceptions and cognition, as well as that of our pets, happens at the level of gross consciousness, which is largely dependent on the brain and sensory activity of this body. When we die, gross consciousness dies too.
However, this is not the end of our story because we also possess a subtle consciousness that continues. It is helpful to think of this form of consciousness as akin to energy, a life force that cannot be created or destroyed but that is constantly being shaped according to how it is imprinted, moment by moment, with actions of body, speech and mind.
The relationship between subtle and gross consciousness may be likened to that of a string passing through a row of beads, each bead representing a different lifetime. One bead may be very different from the preceding one. And the reason for its difference is the state of the subtle consciousness threading through it. Positive and virtuous states of subtle consciousness give rise to favourable experiences of reality, while negative and harmful states produce the opposite. In such a way although most beings are not consciously aware of it, each of us is the ultimate creator of our own experience of reality.
A brief description of death, bardo and beyond
Our subjective experience of death has been established for millennia by Tibetan Buddhist meditators. Advanced practitioners in the Vajrayana tradition undertake practices to access subtle consciousness. While the purpose of these practices is not to simulate the death process, that is one side-effect: the breath steadies, slows and halts. The heartbeat ceases. And once the yogi has completed his or her practice – which could be a matter of minutes, hours or days according to our usual timeframe – normal metabolic activity resumes.
These meditators describe the death process as eight successively more subtle dissolutions, the first four relating to body, and the latter four relating to mind.
Because each one of us has a uniquely different subtle consciousness, and will have a different death, we don’t experience these dissolutions in an identical way. Sudden death by accident, for example, will necessarily be different from a calm passing supported by palliative care.
What we do know for sure is that each one of us will encounter the most subtle eighth stage – the clear light of death. And what happens at that time is pivotal.
Physical dissolution
During the first stage of the death process, our body starts shutting down, our eyesight begins failing, and our subjective experience is like a television screen blurring, or a mirage seen when driving along the road during a very hot, summer. This may be accompanied by a strong feeling of sinking.
In the second stage, we lose all feeling of pain or pleasure, our hearing fails and we may feel thirsty. It may seem that our room is filling with smoke. People who work in hospices can confirm experiences reported by patients going through these first two stages when we are still able to communicate.
By the third stage we are completely withdrawing from the world and our subjective experience is akin to sparks bursting from a fire, also described as being like a swarm of fireflies.
When we get to the fourth stage, we experience only a single, flickering flame, along with the knowledge that when it goes out, we will pass on. When the flame stops flickering, gross physical dissolution is complete. In medical terms we are defined as dead.
Mental dissolution
From the outside, during the moments after death it may seem that nothing is happening. Our loved one has stopped breathing, and their consciousness seems to have gone. Minutes pass. The main event appears to be over.
For the dying being, however, mental dissolution is still happening. We experience progressively more subtle forms of dissolution of consciousness accompanied by visions of whiteness, like an autumn sky, redness, like an African sunset, and then a blackness which feels all-consuming and in which we may well experience a fainting sensation.
Once again, the speed and precise experience of these three stages will vary for each individual. And they lead up to the most important time of all following the most subtle dissolution, the dawning of what’s termed ‘the clear light of death’.
Why is the clear life of death so significant?
In life, our thoughts, feelings and sensations at any moment shape our experience of reality for that moment. Positive and benevolent thoughts create a happy state of mind, while negative, harsh thoughts make us miserable.
When we experience the clear light of death, the same dynamic is at work – but whatever thoughts, feelings and sensations arise don’t only affect how we perceive reality for that moment. Because we are at a time of vital transition, they have the potential to set up the framework for how we will experience reality for a whole new lifetime, in a positive or negative way.
Used to experiencing ourselves as flesh and blood beings, when encountering the clear light of death, most of us have a sense of personal annihilation. Where am ‘I’? we may wonder. What’s happened to ‘me’? I want to ‘be’! This grasping for a self, together with whatever thoughts may arise, is what propels us into the bardo state—the one which exists between the lifetime that has just ended, and the one which is to come.
This is why it is all important to ensure that our loved ones, animal or human, have the most peaceful death possible, and that they are given the time they need to transition before we tamper with their bodies. Their very subtle minds may be present for longer than we imagine. It is said that only when the last residual heat disappears – in a human being, this is typically in the heart area – that we can now say the death process is truly over.
This, incidentally, is also one reason why Buddhist meditators simulate experiencing clear light during meditation, so that when we encounter the real thing, we identify with it and its many sublime qualities rather than seek embodiment again. Liberation can be attained when we consciously navigate a process that otherwise happens to us without us realizing it. Death thereby offers a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity not only to avoid rebirth and end our own suffering, but also to move towards more transcendent states in which we have the capabilities to help other beings.
Through the bardo state to rebirth
The bardo state is usually likened to a dream. In dreams we can see, taste, touch and do everything we can in normal wakefulness, even though we are not doing so physically. Our feelings are often greatly heightened. In fact, what we experience when dreaming may be very much more vivid and dramatic than anything that happens to us when awake. All that we experience, however wonderful or hideous, is a projection of our mind.
In the bardo state we take the subtle form of the being we will next be born as—human or animal—and constantly seeking the opportunity for rebirth, to become a solid ‘me’ again. At this time nothing is certain. The karma that links us to potential parents may be strong, but is conception possible? What about others who have karmic links to those same beings?
It is said that in the bardo state, we need only think about a place, and we are there, much like in a lucid dream. If we recollect our previous home, we are present. In some Buddhist cultures, for seven weeks after the death of a person, their belongings are left ready for use and their place at mealtimes is kept for them, so that if they observe what is happening as bardo beings, they won’t feel forgotten or excluded. For the sake of leaving out familiar food bowls, toys and perhaps a litter tray, this is useful advice for pet lovers.
The minds of bardo beings can also be influenced by those with whom they have recently had close karmic bonds. Loved ones can practice generosity or make donations of various kinds, offering the virtue for the benefit of those who have passed on. Perceiving virtue being practiced by the one to whom they feel so strongly connected has a very positive impact on the sensitive minds of bardo beings – one strong enough to potentially upgrade their bardo form. For example, a being who took the bardo form of, say a cow, perceiving and resonating with an act of kindness, could change into the bardo form of a human.
Our time in bardo can last from just moments up to seven weeks. We may find rebirth very easily, or it could take a while. Each week, on the anniversary of the day of our death, the subtle form of the bardo being undergoes a kind of mini-death, or reboot, and may arise in a different subtle form. So, the possibility of our rebirth may change from, say, a cat to a human, or vice versa. This is a highly significant bardo moment. The reality we will experience, potentially for many decades, can be affected by what happens at this critical time. And we, as the ‘go to’ person for the being who has died, can positively influence this process through what we do on these weekly anniversaries.
By the 49th day after death, every bardo being has definitely have found an opportunity for rebirth. The framework for our experience of reality for another lifetime is set.
My heartfelt thanks to all of you, my paying subscribers, for helping me raise funds for causes that matter. I pay about 50% of your subscription money to worthy not-for-profits, with a focus on the following four causes:
These include: Wild is Life - home to endangered wildlife and the Zimbabwe Elephant Nursery; Twala Trust Animal Sanctuary - supporting indigenous animals as well as pets in extremely disadvantaged communities; Dongyu Gyatsal Ling Nunnery - supporting Buddhist nuns from the Himalaya regions; Gaden Relief - supporting Buddhist communities in Mongolia, Tibet, Nepal and India.
I am looking forward to sharing an exciting update with you on our collective donations in the next few weeks.
May all beings have happiness and its causes!
May all beings be free from suffering and its causes!
Just want to share pics of a couple of the creatures you help support at Twala Trust Animal Sanctuary:
Young vervets, above, and the ever-curious Casper, below:
Thank you David for this and it is timely as well. I recently had my 13 year old bulldog die and I miss him so much. For 2 years he was in kidney failure and every night I sat with him and gave him sub q fluids. He never resisted and laid perfectly still, I would sit and talk to him letting him know he could go when he was ready, I sincerely believe he knew and two nights before he passed he came over and pawed at me , asking to sit next to me on the couch and we sat together. He became toxic and I could do nothing more for him. I struggled with deciding to end his suffering but I could not let him suffer any longer. I decided to help him leave. And I stayed with him while he did, it took quite sometime after his heart stopped for me to leave him. But, I do not know if it was in keeping with what you have written. I did my best. And now, my cat, Ivy who is 20 years old, her kidneys are shutting down. I simply cannot watch her suffer and not do anything. Becoming toxic is extreme suffering and having to end her suffering comes from a place of deep compassion. From the Buddhist prospective, it seems they do not agree with ending her pain, I struggle with it not for me, but I want the best for her. Any advice or knowledge you could share on end of life decisions for a pet would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you for allowing me the space to express my loss. It is difficult to process. Sincerely,
Thank you for a very understandable explanation of a very complex subject. It is very helpful.Like everyone else losing much loved pets is heartrending. I wish I had understood this when my Mum died, I was lucky enough to have some idea when my Dad died ( inpart thanks to your book). It really does help