Terminal

Terminal

Somewhere over that hill, or the one beyond, the end of all I’ve known and the start of what comes next. The signs from this seventy-three year old body are clear: I’m aging fast, and best get used to it. Given that fact, now seems a good time to practice beginnings and endings, as one tips inevitably toward the other.  

Days ago, surfing YouTube, I came across an interview with Frank Ostaseski, a beloved Buddhist teacher. In the film clip, Frank, a cofounder of the Zen Hospice Project, suggests paying special attention to how we meet the end of a meal, an event or conversation. In accepting the truth of impermanence, he suggests, we may find it easier to be kind, to surrender demands for desired outcomes. 

And that takes practice. Frank recounts a phone call with an old friend. Ram Dass, learning of Frank’s recent stroke, asked what it was like. Frank described it as a total failure. He’d had no great insights, learned nothing useful. Same here, said Ram Dass. Wheeled into the operating room after his own, massive stroke, he’d noticed nothing but the pipes on the ceiling. 

As I ponder endings and outcomes, mealtime habits come to mind. Eyes glued to a video, I’ll eat mindlessly, then mourning the end of pleasure, lick my empty bowl. And attachment to outcomes is all over my writing practice. In the thick of a project, I’ll latch onto a line of text like a bulldog, working it into the ground. 

Then there’s resistance to clock time. I tend to show up late to appointments and scheduled time with friends, though seldom by more than five minutes. Absorbed in a book or project, I’ll wait till the last possible second before scrambling out the door. What am I resisting?  

Useful reminders of mortality are all around us. From the Upajjhatthana Sutta, a foundational Buddhist text: 

The Five Remembrances 

I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old. 

I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape having ill health. 

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death. 

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. 

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand. 

Hard to swallow, but useful in countering denial. Life as I’ve known it will not, in fact, go on forever. 

A final quote, from Woody Allen: “I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.”  

If asked, most people say they’d prefer going peacefully in their sleep. No pain or stress, no final ordeal. But that’s not how most of us die. Leaving this world usually involves suffering - fighting for breath, pain as vital organs shut down. One thing is certain: I may be surrounded by friends as the end draws near, but will face death alone. 

But not lonely. In clearer moments, all through this life, I’ve sensed an intimate presence, a silent witness to my innermost heart. I trust it to stay as this body fails, to hold me through dying and whatever comes next.  

-Neville Berle,
February, 2026