Robert Lanza - Life After Death

I've had a fascination with death and dying ever since I was a child. 

I know we don't die, that our fear is unnecessary, that we grieve our way to sickness through our ignorance. 

That is why articles like this make me smile. 

http://www.robertlanza.com/does-death-exist-new-theory-says-no-2/#zVdmbuempw8pKwBR.01

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The Fish that Leapt (A short story)

Death is fascinating.

Don't you think?

One moment you're here and the next moment there is a complete absence of that life-force we called you.

An analogy of fish in a pond always comes to mind when I consider this aspect of our existence.

I think I was introduced to it in Michio Kaku's book, Parallel Worlds. Not surprisingly, though, his version was to explain parallel universes. Below, I've tried to create a fable around this idea of fish in a pond, but in relation to death and dying. 

I hope you enjoy it.

***

The Fish that Leapt

The fish thought they knew everything there was to know about their pond. It was their world. Their universe. They spent their time swimming around, getting to know it as much as they could. To discover and to know was built into their very character - it stopped them from feeling lost.

Occasionally they learnt something new, only for it to be a building block for future discoveries, but still, they thought they were making progress. Anything that was unknown to them was their main source of fear - again, another reason to know as much as they could. So with this in mind, there was one thing they knew "for certain" and that was The surface is very dangerous and needs to be avoided at all cost. This came about because many fish had left via the surface and never came back, causing much grief and heartache.

There were myths and legends of monsters that hung around the wavy ceiling, ready to swallow up any fish that hung around for too long. These stories were intentionally built into them when they were young enough to understand fear.

One day, a brave fish swam close to the surface and took a deeper look. He wanted to know what all the fuss and fear was about. He was the rebellious type and therefore hung around for quite some time. He saw things shimmering and heard sounds that were far richer than he had ever heard before. His curiosity was aroused so much that he decided to risk all that he knew and take a leap of faith.

He jumped up, into the surface and glimpsed something life-changing.

He landed back into the pond with a splash, the rest of the fish having no idea of what just happened.

'This isn't all there is! I knew it!' he said. 'There is more out there, beyond the surface! I've just seen it!'

The fish that leapt told all who wanted to know and all who would listen, that the world existed far beyond the boundaries of the pond. He warned them though that if they were there for too long, he was certain that they wouldn't be able to come back to swim. He could tell by the way his breathing was affected.

This fish was obviously ridiculed by many and was considered a bit crazy... anybody who stretches perception is always treat like this by those who prefer their minds to remain narrow.

Those fish who actually listened to him, took it upon themselves to carry out their own research of and around the surface. Some looked deep into their past and saw that such experiences had been very common for millenia. One by one, their fear of the surface began to diminish.

It still left the issue of what would happen to them if they stayed beyond the veil for too long. Not a single fish had ever returned to tell their story.

Their patience was about to be rewarded.

A young fish fell ill. He was loved by all and all believed he would get better. Young fish are full of life with a future full of infinite possibilities - he had to get better. But he didn't. He went 'up there' (as the fish often said) and his mum, who was so distraught, and grieved so much, jumped through the surface on her own accord.

Can you imagine how shocked the whole community must have been? They couldn't believe she would do such a thing.

A broken heart can cause a fish to do things that even time can't fix.

It was now that something miraculous happened: To the mum's amazement, she landed in another pond!

It looked very similar to the pond she had grown accustomed to, but the water was crystal clear and the surface shimmered more beautifully than she had ever known.

It didn't take long for her to hear a familiar voice - a voice she believed would never touch her soul again.

'Mum! Mum! What are you doing here?'

And out of the depths of this new pond came her son, embracing her, telling her that he was alright.

'Mum, you have to go back,' he explained, 'it's not your time.'

Obviously she didn't want to leave him, but he showed her other fish that would look after him: friends and family that went through the surface a long time ago. She looked at them in amazement whilst holding her son. 'Mum. Dad. Nan. Grandad.You're all here...,' she said.

'You see, Mum, I'm not alone. I'm OK.'

He told her she had to jump back through the surface. At first she refused, but he begged her to go. He told her she had unfinished business to take care of and more lessons to learn.

There was something within her that knew he was right and she agreed to go back.

She gave him one last squeeze before she leapt.

She splashed back into the old pond, with the familiar sounds and the familiar faces. She was happy to see them because she brought with her news.

She told all the fish that her son was safe and that when her time came she would see him once again. In fact, she said, they all would.

'But where is he?' asked a young fish.

She looked up, smiling. 'He's right there, beyond the surface.'

THE END

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

Source

Living in the Face of Death

I see a new perception of death and dying arising.

Maybe 'new' isn't the correct word. Maybe what's arising is a process of retrieving what we lost some time ago.

We've become accustomed to pushing death under the carpet. We've come full circle because many of us are now tripping over it, and during our fall we see that it would've done us good to talk about it before we land six feet under.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, Death Cafes are on the rise. The one that I was fortunate to be a part of was a success. It felt great to stand back and observe strangers talking to strangers about something that is somewhat strange to talk openly about - death and dying.

I recently read an article in the Independent about the comedian Billy Connolly and how he's looking for a way to add comical value to his burial plot. He's thinking of putting touch-sensitive pads on his site, so when people stand on them it triggers a recording of his voice, saying something like, 'You're standing on my balls!'

Read the full article here.

Years ago I watched a documentary about a boy called Jon Kennedy who had a degenerative disease. It was very moving - but inspiring. He had a great attitude to death which positively affected the way he lived his life. Carved into his coffin he wanted a tin of baked beans. When asked why, he said he liked the idea of people looking at his coffin and saying, 'Why is there a tin of baked beans on the coffin?'

Spike Milligan's headstone is famous for saying the epitaph, 'I told you I was ill'.

How great is that!

Another reason why I believe that the way we perceive death and dying is adapting and evolving, is because of another article that was brought to my attention about a death doula. (A doula is another name for a midwife).

The article appeared in The Guardian. The 'death doula' is Rebecca Green from the UK. 

She was asked what she feels about her own mortality and she says wisely: "Death doesn't scare me because I don't know what it is. I suppose I'm saying that the unknown doesn't scare me. I find the idea that one day I won't be here any more strange and impossible to imagine. But it's also a fact that I haven't always been here – I only got here in 1969. Where was I in 1968, or 1945? I have no idea. It makes me smile to think of this." 

This is what the philosopher Alan Watts meant when he said that to think of where we will go when we die is like trying to think where we were before we were born. 

Ultimately, it's the same place. Life as we know it then feels like somewhat of a blip in the midst of eternity.

You can read The Guardian article about the death doula here. I highly recommend that you do.

At the weekend I was told about the work of the photographer Rankin and about his exhibition called Alive: In the Face Of Death. He presented portraits of people who were dying. It's beautiful. Unfortunately the exhibition was last year, but there's still quite a bit about it on the net that you can read; here for instance.

Also, look at the tremendous work of Felicity Warner, the founder of Soul Midwives. 

Look at the amazing Dying Matters

Can you see the bigger picture unfolding around us? 

Can you see that we're slowly changing our perception of death and seeing it as inseparable from life?

Can you see that this is the way we are heading?

Having a healthier view of death affects our view of life. Our way of dying affects out way of living.

He who makes an enemy out of death, is not on the best terms with his life.

One last thing:

Where were you one year before you were born?

...thought so.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

Just to Clarify . . .

The recent article in the Huddersfield Examiner about the Death Cafe seems to have caused a bit of a stir.

Due to the feedback I've received I feel like I need to clarify a few things:

1. Several people have said how they felt shocked to read that only females in their 30's will be attending the discussion group. This is an error on behalf of the reporter. (I don't think journalists are very good at the game of 'Chinese whispers', as we call it in the UK.) The reporter rang me up and asked me various questions about the nature of the discussion group, its purpose and what kind of people I expect to see there. I told him that two of my friends, who are both in their 30's and female, are going. I said that I expect there to be more women than men, as is usually the case at such events. I went on to say that it's a fact that men find it more difficult to talk about their feelings than women do. They find it harder to open up. Men see it as a sign of weakness, whereas women gain strength from their ability to be open and share.

What I didn't say was that there are only women attending the event. It just so happens that a few men who have registered for the first discussion group.

A friend of mine saw the article and said, 'I didn't know you was setting up a cafe' . . . which brings me onto my next point:

2. A Death Cafe is not a cafe.

I'm not sure who came up with the name "Death Cafe" but it's misleading. It sounds macabre and grim and quite gothic. It's not their fault, it's the thousands of years of badmouthing death that is to blame. The word death brings with it so many negative connotations, so it's no surprise that "Death Cafe" sounds like a mass suicide pact just after a skinny latte and a blueberry muffin . . . Great!

I prefer to call it Talk About Dying - abbreviated to TAD. This way, the venue (which, surprisingly, is usually a cafe) won't be projected as being frightening and eerie.

The article got shared nearly 300 times, which goes to show how many people are interested in shining some light on this taboo topic.

A few jokes popped up which made me laugh. Somebody said that they had been to a Death Cafe the other week but it was dead.

This one made me laugh the most, though: I went to one last week but there was coffin all the way through it.

Brilliant.

So, let me conclude:

• Everybody is welcome at a Death Cafe discussion group. You can be male, female, both or neither (?) Everybody dies, Everybody's welcome (that should be the slogan).
• A Death Cafe is not a cafe. It's a discussion group to discuss all things related to death and dying. Renaming it to TAD (Talk about Dying/Death) might be a very wise move. It certainly helps clarify things.
• Joking about death and dying can be funny at times, but it can also be a great way to mask our fear.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk 

*Source

Dying for a Coffee?

Have you ever heard of a Death Cafe?

I hadn't, until the other day.

After my talk for the International Day of Happiness, where I spoke about having a daily awareness of death gives rise to happiness and gratitude, I was contacted by the organiser of the event who said she was keen to set up a group where the main topic of discussion would be death.

It sounds grim, right?

But it can be far, far from it, I assure you.

Upon searching the net, she found a growing trend for Death Cafes.

What happens is this: people meet for two hours and talk about death and dying whilst supping a hot beverage and nibbling on a piece of cake.

It's that simple.

I think it's a great idea.

It shines light on a dark topic - a topic which a lot of us prefer to run away from, but ultimately it will catch us up.

Have a look at the death cafe website: http://deathcafe.com/

There's a guide on there to set up your own meeting. You can search for Death Cafes near you. There's advice on what to talk about. There's loads of stuff! Have a look and see what you think.

I honestly think that talking about death and dying can change the way we live. So many of us think that life is continuous . . . and to a degree, I personally think it is (but that's for another post), but we can all agree on the impermanent state of this physical world. Everything about this physical reality is governed by the law of impermanence - there's no escaping it. 

We have given a name to this flow of impermanence. We have called it dying.

And it's about time we sit and chat about it - over coffee and cake.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

Dying to Live

When I was invited to do a talk for the International Day of Happiness, I jumped at the chance.

I was enthusiastic about it at first, but that enthusiasm soon began to fade. I started to have doubts about my ability to talk about happiness for 30 minutes.

How do you present a talk about happiness?

This was the question I asked myself over and over again.

I came to the conclusion (a few days before the event) that when we speak about happiness, we only talk of two things:

1. How we feel when we're happy
2. What gives rise to that feeling we know as happiness

Feelings are subjective.

They're very personal.

I can never experience a feeling for you and you can't experience a feeling for me.

I can't feel what you feel and you can't feel what I feel.

I might say some comforting words, such as, 'I know how you're feeling.'

But I don't, really.

They're just very nice words to hear when we're wanting reassurance that we're not alone with our feelings.

When, in reality, we are.

But we're OK with that, right? We don't know any different.

After all, we've never shared feelings before, have we?

Even if I say I know how you feel, it's still I who feels the feelings that I say are the feelings that you say you're feeling. Do you follow?

To cut out any further mind-bending sentences, let us conclude that happiness is a feeling and is therefore subjective.

And because happiness is subjective, I knew I couldn't realistically present a talk on happiness in 30 minutes.

I don't know what makes people happy! I have no secrets for peoples' happiness! What on earth can I speak about?

Then I asked the question: what makes me happy?

That would be a good place to start, right?

If I could speak about that, then I wouldn't be surmising about other peoples' states of mind; their emotional triggers and the filters of their mind.

At first I thought it might seem self-indulgent and narcissistic to just talk about me, myself and I . . . but that would only be true if I was telling them aspects of myself to benefit my ego.

And that wasn't the case.

I was going to tell them aspects of myself because:

1. I thought they would benefit from hearing about my philosophy and experiences.
2. It's the only thing I know!

I started off the talk by explaining my dilemma about not knowing what to talk about and reasons for this.

I told them the basic fundamentals which make up my own happiness, and would no doubt also make up theirs. Think Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs:

Physiological: breathing; water; food; sex; sleep; homeostasis; excretion.
Safety: security of body; employment; resources; morality; the family; health; property.
Love/Belonging: friendship; family; sexual intimacy.
Esteem: self-esteem; confidence; achievement; respect of others; respect by others.
Self-actualisation: morality; creativity; spontaneity; problem solving; lack of prejudice; acceptance of facts.

What I wanted to speak about was one area of life which seemed to be the undercurrent in all that I do.

It effects the way I look at life.

It effects the way I live my life.

It effects the way I perceive life and is therefore an intrinsic part of my own personal philosophy.

It's the one thing which I'm sure people weren't expecting to ponder on at an event focused on happiness.

Death and dying.

When I ponder on my own mortality, it gives rise to gratitude, love, joy, compassion, understanding; empathy, patience, contentment, motivation, ambition, and many more.

I've had an interest in the paranormal since I was a child. My parents said I was writing ghost stories at the age of six. At the library, I would run over to the non-fiction section and look for books on ghost sightings. I would revel in the black and white photos of the silky figures coming down huge staircases in old mansions.

I wanted to know what it was all about death and why people feared it. Maybe, as children, we all have an innate knowing that death is safe, but it's knocked out of us by our exposure to fear, through adults and the media.

Another reason why death plays an important part in my life, is that I've had three friends die before they're 30, so now, because I'm approaching 31, I feel like I'm on borrowed time. I didn't share this with the group to gain their empathy - thousands of people die everyday - death is as common as life - but my exposure to death has impacted my philosophy . . . and this is what I was wanting to share with them.

A good friend of mine died of cancer at the age of 22. He said to me, 'Gav, one day you're on the bus going to college and the next day you've got a brain tumour.'

Life unfolds like that sometimes.

But doesn't that make you want to live?

Doesn't that make you look around and think, 'Wow -  what a beautiful planet we share. Oh, look, I'm breathing - that's amazing!'

When I was in my late teens I was incredibly miserable. I was overly ambitious and my dreams just weren't happening fast enough. I didn't like myself. I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. I turned to smoking weed and I drank way too much. I was your stereotypical teenager, really, but I was suffering, nonetheless.

One day, I was walking my dogs on a grassy hill. There was no sound on that hill, apart from distant traffic and the occasional barking dog somewhere. My dogs were running around frantically; happy chasing leaves and their tails. I, on the other hand, was listening to the constant stream of thoughts going on inside my head. It was dreadful. I liken it to the sound of a football match.

Then I found myself staring at a tree. I stared and stared at this one tree.

Then my perception of the tree changed.

Then everything about Gavin and all of his problems; all of his past; all of his future plans; and all of his insecurities vanished in an instant, leaving nothing but awareness and a formless identity.

And that identity was shared with that tree.

I went from rock bottom to ecstatic laughter in an instant.

I laughed my arse off for a few minutes on that hill and I had no idea why.

As soon as the first thought came, Gavin Whyte came with it. It was a thought which asked, 'What the hell was that?'

I, now back to being Gavin Whyte, with his past and future etc, was confused. I thought I was losing the plot.

Still on the hill with my dogs and pondering on the experience, a voice came into my head and said, 'See everything as if for the first time.'

Now, I know it sounds crazy to have voices in your head - honestly, I do - but it happened.

This voice has made itself known three times in my life, and every time it grabs my attention and I have no choice but to listen.

You know when you read a book in your head? You know when you're talking to yourself in your head?

What does the voice sound like?

It sounds like you, right?

That's the trick of our thoughts. They use our voice which makes us believe they are us. But we are not our thoughts; we are their observer.

The voice that said, 'See everything as if for the first time,' was not my voice.

I don't know whose voice it was, but it wasn't mine.

And I had no control over it.

It just came - said its thing - and left.

As soon as I heard it, I stopped walking with my dogs and instantly thought I had been given a secret to life. A secret to happiness.

I continued to reflect on the mini message (which has profound effects if you do what it says) and then I thought, what if if you see everything as if for the last time, too?

So what happens when you look at something as if for the first time?

You eliminate the past.

You cut through all of your preconceptions and all of your 'knowledge' of that object.

What happens when you see everything as if for the first time and the last time?

You eliminate the past and the future.

With this perception, you know you've never seen this object before and you know that you're never going to see it again.

Also - you have to admit to yourself that you have no idea what it is!

With this mindset, calling a tree a tree makes no sense whatsoever!

Calling a flower a flower is nonsense.

Calling a person a person is ridiculous.

You have to admit to yourself that you don't know what they are - because you have no idea who you are either!

You have absolutely no idea.

But there is one thing which you do know:

That you, this nameless witness, shares the same energy and presence with everything else in the entire universe.

Looking at life this way, we see that we never die, because we were never born.

Death is a natural process in life which we have labelled 'death'. And this label brings with it so many negative connotations, which breeds fear.

We could go so far as to say there is no such things as death. There is only life because death IS life.

As Ram Dass said, 'Death is like taking off a tight shoe'.

The physical universe is in a constant state of flux. It's full, from moment to moment, of subtle changes which our eyes don't pick up. We only notice change after a significant amount of time has passed, or if there has been a set of circumstance which have caused a vast change in a small amount of time.

So when you do actually see a flower, it really is the first time you've seen it, and the last time you're going to see it.

That flower is always changing.

To assume it isn't is plain ignorant.

So many of us live our lives as one big assumption. We go to bed at night as if we've signed a contract which states that we're going to wake up in the morning. We think there's a similar contract in the morning which promises that our heads will rest at night . . . but there is no such contract.

Yet this is how most of us live our lives.

A healthy awareness of death and the fragility of this physical world and your physical form, brings you back to here. To now.

I finished the talk at the event for happiness with a few simple figures which put things into perspective for me. They're figures which I've stated previously on this blog, but I will repeat them here.

If you live till you're 80:

- you have approximately 4160 weeks here. (Half that if you're approaching or are past 40).
- you have approximately 29,200 days to shine. Match this with the number of sunsets to see.
- you have approximately 960 months. The same applies with the number of full moons to see.
- you have approximately 80 sets of seasons to make the most of.

How that does that make you feel?

I don't know about you, but it makes me want to live.

And when I start living, I'm happy.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

 

The Death and Birth of Dreams

I'm happy to announce that my new book, Happiness & Honey, is now out to buy in paperback and on electronic formats.

The short fable is about a bee who exists at a time when bees didn't believe they could fly. They spend all their time slaving away to make honey. Billy was a bee who dreamt he could fly, but was told to turn his back on his silly dreams, to get some responsibilities and to go to work and make as much honey as possible.

I remember when the idea came to me: I was out walking on a cool day after a really hot spell. It was early in the year, too - Spring, I believe. I stepped over a bee on the pavement that also looked like it was out for its daily stroll. Then the idea popped into my head about a bee that couldn't fly.

I'm a guilty dreamer . . . for ten years I entertained the dream of becoming a music producer. I pursued it right to the very end, signing along the dotted line of the contract when I was 23. But it turned out that I had outlived the dream. I no longer resonated with the role of music producer. So much resistance and uncertainty took place around that time that I can remember crying myself to sleep one night.

I was saying goodbye to a part of myself that I had lived and breathed for a decade.

I was grieving the death of a dream.

It didn't help that I had identified myself with the outcome of the dream - so when the dream was realised and fell flat on its face, I was left asking who I was.

I remember a friend saying to me at the time, 'This could be the best thing that ever happened to you.' And he was right, for now I had space in life for something that would be up to date with my ideals and my sense of self.

It occurred to me that if I had got a recording contract, I could have and do anything I put my mind to. 

This is how writing came into the picture.

I had wanted to write a book since I was very young, but making music always took precedence.

Having written three books so far, I intend to continue . . . but who knows, maybe I'll turn my back on it further down the line and take up painting as a means of expressing myself.

Although I can't draw to save my soul . . .

Happiness & Honey is available on Rowanvale Books

I hope it touches the dreamer in you.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

   

'I've been to a good place. Everything's OK.'

Whilst volunteering at my local hospice last Monday, I was made aware of a booklet called Nearing the End of Life - A Guide for Relatives and Friends of the Dying written by Sue Brayne and Dr Peter Fenwick. This booklet is there for anybody to read.

Now, it was Fenwick's name that jumped out at me because I've read his amazing book The Art of Dying.

He is a well known researcher into NDEs (Near Death Experiences) and OBEs (Out of Body Experiences) and believes that at the point of death, consciousness doesn't cease to exist, but actually goes on to another state of existence.

I was excited to find this booklet (which has been there for ages and I've never seen it until now) because other material I've read which the hospice provides for families (especially to help them with their grief) says, and I'll paraphrase, 'Once your loved one has died don't be surprised if you feel their presence around you, or have certain sensations like being able to smell their aftershave or favourite perfume. These are natural reactions to grief.'

This simple says that if you feel your deceased relative around you - it's not them. It's the grieving process.

I don't agree with this.

I'm a trained bereavement support worker with Cruse Bereavement Care and they said the same as the hospice - again, I disagreed.

If someone has felt their deceased loved one by them and it's brought them heaps amount of comfort and has eased their pain of 'losing' them, then surely, just because this experience can not be explained scientifically by our limited understanding of consciousness, we shouldn't assume that these experiences are grief-induced fantasies.

What a shame to dismiss someone's comforting experience out of ignorance.

The booklet, which I mentioned above, contains several stories. One of which I would like to share with you now:

DENISE'S STORY

I knew that my father was going to die that day and decided to leave him alone with my mother.

I had no problem leaving him as he had told me he was 'ready to go', wasn't frightened and very calm. We spent a lot of time talking while I nursed him, and without actually saying it, we had said our goodbyes.

I wandered around until I just felt that he had died, returning home to find he had indeed died 20 minutes before. I felt mixed emotions of relief, as he was no longer suffering and fearful.

I had not seen a dead body before. I stood nervously, with my back to the wall, at a distance, plucking up the courage to approach.

It was then I felt the pressure of hands on my shoulders and a voice whispering in my ear, 'I'm OK'. This was followed by the overwhelming sensation of a very strong force moving far away with immense speed.

I knew it was my father. Any fear I had I felt melted away. It gave me the strength to deal with the duties associated with death. Much later I realised this experience had removed my fear of dying.'

Imagine saying to Denise, 'You were just grieving. It's natural for things like that to happen.'

But that's exactly what our current scientific understanding of these experiences is saying.

I've recently read Raymond Moody's latest book, Paranormal. Moody has played a huge role in the field of after death studies. In the 70's, with his book Life After Life, he coined the term Near Death Experience. His latest book is biographical in nature.

He explains his troubled relationship with his dad, how his dad never really accepted his research into life after death. His dad, you see, was a respected surgeon so he had his reputation to protect. He even, at one point, admitted his son (Moody) to a mental institute because he thought he was loosing the plot with his latest research into the technique of scrying.

Towards the end of the book, Moody describes the passing of his dad, and this is what I'd like to share with you now, as it really made me smile. Remember, this is someone who, throughout his life, didn't believe in life after death, despite his son's tremendous research:

In the moments before his death, my brothers who were there at his side said his breathing picked up and they were amazed to see his eyes open; the doctors had told them he was in a coma from which he would not regain consciousness. He was wearing a beatific smile as he looked into their puzzled faces and said: 'I have been to a beautiful place. Everything is okay. I'll see everybody again. I'll miss you, but we will be together again.'

With that proclamation, he died.

I always remember the psychic medium, Johnathan Edward, saying, 'I prefer to live life believing in an after life and then to find out there isn't one, than to live life not believing and to find out there is one.'