RADIANCIES OF DEATH

For centuries the human mind has been afraid, disturbed, distressed, at the thought of death; the uncertainty of the beyond; "shall we know each other there?" and the thousand and one questions that have arisen as to what life, if any, there is beyond the grave. Years ago, in my own innerness, all sense of fear, of disturbance, of distress at the thought of death vanished, never again to appear. I have no resentment at the thought of death, either for myself, or those I love. I expect it for us all, and am neither surprised nor hurt when it comes. There may be the sense of physical loss, but that is all. There is no sense of real loss of anything except the temporal, the physical, that which, in the very course of Nature, must pass through the change we call Death.

Hence I feel I have definite and positive radiancies upon this subject, which I am assured will bring comfort and peace to those who can enter into the spirit of them, and accept the same assurances that have come to me.

The first of these that I would radiate with clearness and fullness is that man is a spiritual being and not physical. Much of the fear, dread, distress, pain of death has come from the mistaken belief that man is physical. Death has come and robbed us of the life of the physical. The flesh has become cold, inanimate, lifeless, therefore dead and lost to us. The mother has grieved herself into sickness and a ruined life because of the death of her babe. Husbands have wept long for the wives they thought they had lost. Sorrow, grief, sadness, woe—these seem the natural accompaniments of death. Our customs, our language, our literature, our poetry, our art, are full of the expressions of this thought—the trappings of woe, the solemn countenance, the hushed voice, the somber garments, the widow's weeds, the black band of bereavement, the hearse, the funeral marches, the watch of the dead, the lighted candles, the solemn funeral addresses, the tears, the grief that will not be comforted, all speak of the sadness attributed to death. Tennyson's In Memoriam, Browning's La Saziaz, and hundreds, thousands, of lesser poems have been written on the woe, the grief, the cruelty of death.

While I long for the physical presence of my beloved ones as much as do other men, I would radiate my belief, my restful assurance, in the love that exists, persists, lives, after what we call the death of the body, and that, therefore, to me, save for the loss of the physical presence, there is absolutely no death, no need for sorrow, grief, pain, or woe.

As birth itself is a death of the embryonic life, so is death a birth into the life beyond—the life of the spirit, the life, free, unhampered, unhindered by the flesh. Browning expresses it perfectly in his wonderful Pisgah Sight, where he stands and looks "over Jordan" into the Promised Land:

The Indians' attitude towards death is very beautiful to me. They regard it as a natural change; a something to be expected, to be looked for, and therefore to be met with bravery, courage, and fearlessness. While I know they grieve deeply at unexpected deaths by accidents, sudden disease, in war, etc., and make a loud show of their grief, that is merely the child part of their nature asserting itself. When a man, a woman, has lived out the natural term of years and he, she, feels death approaching, retirement is made to some quiet and solitary place, where Death is awaited with calmness, serenity, and fearlessness. This is what I would radiate, both for myself and those whom I love. I believe with all my heart in the great goodness of God; in the progressiveness of the human soul towards the godhead possible for us.

I look forward with confidence and eager anticipation to the adventures new and brave that are to meet me when I go beyond. I have had a grand and glorious time here. In spite of hardships, sorrows, griefs, pains, sickness, bereavement, poverties, and the pains that come from a recognition of my own mental and spiritual imperfections, I have had a wonderfully rich, joyous, and blessed life. I am thankful for it all. As I look back upon it I regret only those things wherein I have brought pain and sorrow to others. As for myself, all the pains and distresses are gone and forgotten; the joys and delights, the pleasures and happinesses, only, remain, and for these I am thankful beyond all power of expression.

Shall I, then, be afraid that the Supreme Power who has so blessed me in this life will be unable, or unwilling, to equally bless me in the one to come? Fearless and unafraid I await the issue, nay, with glad confidence I will welcome it when it comes.

Hence, again to quote Browning, whom I love and revere for his great helpfulness:

I want to meet death in just that spirit; open-eyed, in full possession of my senses, if that be possible, that I may have full cognizance of the experience as I pass through it. But let it come as it may, I want to be ready to meet and greet it.

In many of his poems Walt Whitman fully expresses my conceptions, and Joaquin Miller's many sweet poems reËcho the thoughts that come to me, again and again, as I contemplate the sleep that has no earthly awakening. Take his beautiful River of Rest:

And elsewhere he says:

Here is the spirit in which he describes and meets death:

Thus, in very deed, and very truth, would I await and welcome him. And so I would radiate, now and ever, being sorry for my failings and failures, but thankful beyond measure for any small degree of helpfulness, joy, happiness, blessing I may have brought to others, and with only one great desire towards the earth and its inhabitants, viz., to be remembered as one who loved and sought to bless his fellow men.