The passing of Queen Elizabeth prompted an outpouring of messages, warmly acknowledging her many admirable qualities, including her benevolence and sense of purpose. I personally was a great admirer of the Queen and her extraordinary dedication to a life of service.
When I heard the news of her death, I immediately recalled a specific insight often mentioned by my cherished teacher Geshe Thubten Loden: “On the day she dies,” he often used to tell his Australian students. “The Queen and the kookaburra will be the same.”
The point he made was that whatever status, wealth, social connections or power we may enjoy in this lifetime we lose the moment we die. After our last exhalation, physical and mental dissolution follow. All that continues, whether we are the Queen or a kookaburra, is subtle consciousness which carries the imprints of our actions, predisposing us to experience reality in a particular way.
I never met the Queen, but I know people who did, and who worked for her. Guided from a young age to perform her unique role, she had a powerful sense of purpose – one that was fundamentally benevolent, encouraging others to be their best selves. As a result, I feel sure that her subtle consciousness will continue in an auspicious way.
On the passing of a high lama or revered yogi, the appearance of rainbows in the sky is often said to be a sign of such auspiciousness. That rainbows appeared above both Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle - among other places - at the time of the Queen’s passing may just be an indication of the air mosture in England. But I like to believe not.
May the Queen, and all who have recently passed into bardo,
Quickly and easily attain complete and perfect enlightenment.
May all of us who feel gratitude for what she gave us,
Live up to her own ideal to be our best selves.
May love, compassion, joy and equanimity,
Pervade the hearts and minds of all limitless beings
Throughout universal space.
Some of you may be unaware of my book The Queen’s Corgi: On Purpose. I would like to share a relevant passage in which our narrator, Nelson, the Queen’s newest corgi, witnesses the death of her eldest, Winston. It is a passage foreshadowing the Queen’s own death, and illuminates the view, shared by Tibetan Buddhism with other traditions, that if we have lived well, at the time of death we may have the experience of being guided to higher states of consciousness by angels, or dakinis. In this case by Michael, a mysterious figure with whom the Queen regularly communes in the silence of St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.
It was the evening of Dr Munthe’s visit that we had retired to the private sitting room at Windsor where the Queen and Philip sat playing Scrabble. A fire glowed in the hearth and we three corgis were scattered about it, dozing contentedly. At one point I looked up, and found Winston’s gaze fixed on me. He motioned for me to join him.
As I made my way over and lay down beside him, I couldn’t ignore how laboured his breathing had become – even more so than in the past few weeks. It was with some effort that he propped himself up in his basket to face me.
‘Nelson.’ He looked me straight in the eye. ‘I am dying.’
I was startled. ‘Don’t be silly, Winston. That must be the painkillers talking.’
Dr Munthe had administered a dose which he said would help Winston cope with the attacks of coughing.
‘I can feel it in my bones.’
I knew better than to contradict Winston when it came to the subject of his intuition. And because he had rarely been so direct with me, I knew I had to take him seriously.
‘But you can’t die!’ I said, feeling helpless.
‘Oh, it’s the most natural thing in the world,’ he said. ‘Every one of us must die and if you live well, you have nothing to fear.’ From the way he spoke, it was evident that Winston had no concerns about what he faced. ‘Death is simply the transition to adventures new.’
There was the longest silence, interspersed only by the occasional crack of a burning log in the fire. Eventually I told him exactly how I felt. ‘But I don’t want to lose you!’ I said, with feeling.
‘Sweet of you to say, dear boy,’ he replied in a kindly tone. ‘But parting is inevitable. We come into the world not knowing anyone. And when we leave, it is on our own too. We separate from everyone who has ever been important to us. From every one of our possessions.’
My mind went to the pile of bones stacked near the flowerpots which Winston had been wise to keep hidden in plain sight.
‘It’s the same for us all. On the day she dies, even the Queen herself will leave this life with as much as you or me or a beggar in the street.’
I considered this bleak prospect for a moment before I asked, ‘Doesn’t that make our whole life a bit pointless?’
‘Not at all.’ He has to pause to take in a few, very laboured breaths before he said, ‘It only focuses the mind on what continues.’
I cocked my head, staring at him intently.I cocked my head, staring at him intently.
‘Consciousness,’ he spluttered. ‘We should take every opportunity we have in this life to make sure that it carries on in a positive way.’
‘How do you do that?’ Winston was revealing a subject I had never thought much about – but which was assuming a sudden, very great importance.
‘By creating the true causes of a happy mind
I listened to this with interest.
‘Can anger lead to contentment?’ he asked.
‘I … I don’t think so.’ I didn’t want to disappoint him with my answer.
‘Never,’ he confirmed, his voice weaker than in the past, but still defiant. ‘Nor can jealousy lead to peacefulness? Or self-pity to joy? Our main purpose in life is to develop the positive causes of positive mental effects. This is the best way to be happy, not only now, but in the future, when this life ends.’
As so often before, I was struck by Winston’s very great wisdom. How he knew the answers to questions I hadn’t yet even thought of. But as I mulled over his words, something troubled me. I found myself turning my nose away from him.
‘What is it, dear boy?’
‘It’s … I don’t suppose it’s … anything much.’
‘No time to lose,’ he managed, before succumbing to a violent attack of coughing. ‘Spit it out.’
‘It’s just that, what if there is nothing after this life?’ I felt bad asking such a thing of a corgi who was not only my mentor, but who was himself seriously ill.
‘Yes,’ he nodded sagely. ‘I suppose we all wonder this sometimes. But the energy we possess cannot be destroyed. It may change shape, but it has to go somewhere.’ It was a while before he added, ‘Like trapped wind.’
I was relieved Winston hadn’t been upset by my indelicate question. ‘Better out than in?’’ I repeated his very personal liturgy. ‘Winston’s First Dictum?’
‘Look sharp, dear boy,’ he wheezed, humour lighting up his grizzled features as he spluttered in his basket. ‘Watch how the most enlightened beings choose to spend their time. What do they hold to be important? That should give us a clue about life’s greatest purpose.’
There can come a time, witnessing the decline of a loved one, when the peace of physical death starts to seem preferable to the torture of continued living. Winston spent most of each day asleep – the effect of the heavy medication Dr Munthe had prescribed for maximum comfort. During his rare moments of wakefulness, we all hoped he wouldn’t succumb to an especially violent spasm of coughing. Following each of these we’d witness his agonising struggle for breath. One day, we all knew, he would no longer have the fight in him to survive.
It was late one afternoon in the Queen’s private sitting room when he surfaced from the deep sleep in which he’d spent all morning. Her Majesty was downstairs giving an official audience and Margaret had accompanied her. So it was just the two of us in the soft, lamp-lit quietude. With the benefit of hindsight, I realised that this was just how Winston planned it.
I looked up as I saw him lift his head in his basket. This action alone took all his energy. His face now gaunt, his once-sleek coat lying lank, when he looked at me, there was still that spark of humour in his brown eyes.
‘It’s time,’ he said simply.
His spluttering subsided and his breathing became regular. Gentle. A sense of tranquillity came into the room, and even though it was late in the afternoon the light coming through the window changed in a way I would have found hard to imagine had I not experienced it for myself. It was as if we had been caught in a forest and had found our way to a clearing where the canopy above us had opened. We were illuminated in a light which had the clarity of dawn. Along with the light was an aroma I recognised, but couldn’t immediately place: the aromatic fragrance of primordial woodlands.
‘He’s come to fetch me. As I live, so shall I die,’ Winston said, quite clearly, before exhaling with a shudder.
I stared at him, knowing instinctively what had happened, but unable to believe or accept it. Willing him to breathe in again. But there was no movement in his body. Only the tranquil radiance of that clear light. A sensation of boundlessness which pervaded the whole room, and into which I knew that Winston was passing.
There was no time in that vivid brightness, as though it had been there all along, but I was only, for a short while, able to perceive it. Then the light began to fade.
I stared out the window. I will never know, my fellow subject, if what I saw was actually there, or only a figment of my imagination. But it seemed as if the clear light was being swiftly gathered into a figure who was standing directly outside, holding Winston in his arms. With his blue eyes, snowy white hair and moon-silver cloak, I instantly recognised Michael. And it suddenly occurred to me that he might be an angel.
Both he and Winston looked at me with expressions of the deepest love and reassurance. Then they dissolved rapidly upwards.
The sky was already darkening into evening. For the longest time, the last of that bright light remained, twinkling like a star in the canopy of nightfall. A gleaming reminder of the wisest dog I had ever known, and my dearest mentor. The one who had opened my eyes to mysteries and wonderment beyond anything I may have ever imagined. Hidden in plain sight.
So beautiful and so comforting as I too am about to lose a loved one. Thank You.
You always know just what to write when we need it, David. Thanks so very much for this beautiful post. This truly is a wonderful time to reread (or listen to again in my case) 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛'𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖: 𝑂𝑛 𝑃𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒. The profound sadness and compassion felt globally surrounding her passing has a unique quality in uniting the people of this ailing world. Always a silver lining....