Relax, you’re gonna die

Remembering death to awaken to life.

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

Death is terrifying—we get it.

Being born is the death sentence; the terminal diagnosis. Or as Buddhist studies scholar Anne Klein puts it, “Life is a party on death row.”

Even in that statement is a kind of strange beauty. It reminds us that the inescapability of death is also what sharpens life’s edges, heightens its colors, and sweetens its fleeting joys.

Ernest Becker, pioneering researcher of existential anxiety and author of The Denial of Death, once wrote: “To live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything.” The question is: Can we turn our ears toward the rumble—not to drown in it, but to live more vividly because of it? Can we find joy not in spite of death, but because we know it’s coming?

For this week’s contemplation, we’re sharing the poem “Relax” by Ellen Bass. With wry humor and *relatable* predicaments, it captures the essence of the human condition: Bad things are going to happen. And yet, life is full of beauty, wonder and delight.

We hope you love it as much as we do.

Relax

By Ellen Bass

Bad things are going to happen.

Your tomatoes will grow a fungus

and your cat will get run over.

Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream

melting in the car and throw

your blue cashmere sweater in the dryer.

Your husband will sleep

with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling

out of her blouse. Or your wife

will remember she’s a lesbian

and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat—

the one you never really liked—will contract a disease

that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth

every four hours. Your parents will die.

No matter how many vitamins you take,

how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys,

your hair and your memory. If your daughter

doesn’t plug her heart

into every live socket she passes,

you’ll come home to find your son has emptied

the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb,

and called the used appliance store for a pick up—drug money.

There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger.

When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine

and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below.

And two mice—one white, one black—scurry out

and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point

she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice.

She looks up, down, at the mice.

Then she eats the strawberry.

So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse

in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat,

slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel

and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely.

Oh taste how sweet and tart

the red juice is, how the tiny seeds

crunch between your teeth.

This Sunday, we hope you’ll join us in contemplating: No matter what bad things are happening, can we let life be a little bit sweeter? Where might we find some extra pockets of delight, to savor and to share?

❤️🍓❤️