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The Dalai Lama says that the core of his practice is to prepare for death. Which sounds a bit grim. But if you really look at what he is saying he means that he is practicing to live a good life, so that when death comes he is ready and free of regret.
I’ve been thinking more about death than life this last week, after the suicide of a very close friend in Plum Village. Phap Kinh and I were room-mates together as aspirants (sleeping two feet from one another), sharing everything as we entered monastic life. We were as close as you can be without being married. It was hard when I left the community and disrobed, as the quality of our friendship was so strong.
Phap Kinh had come through so much in his life. The suicide of his mother. The sad dispersion of his family. And then lots of other stuff too. He made it through all of this and was often laughing and joyful. Beneath the laughter I was always aware of the old suffering in him. Perhaps this is some of what joined us so closely together; old suffering that we both carried, though his was much harder stuff than mine. We were both getting through it, growing lighter and younger even as our bodies were technically aging.
He was such a good monk. Happy living a simple life. Giving so much to the thousands of lay people who pour through Plum Village every year. But some part of him was clearly dying, was not being seen or held or met or cared for. Many of us (now former monastics) leave for (perceived) reasons like this. But Phap Kinh left in a dramatic way, quite violent – in terms of what he did to himself and the fact of ending his life at the monastery, where he knew it would have a devastating impact.
Phap Kinh left no note, no trail for us to walk as we try to piece together an understanding of his sudden, shocking and oh so painful end. He left it for us to figure out. To look into what we know of him, this wonderful and wonderfully complex man. To look into what we know about life in the monastic Sangha, what it is and what it isn’t.
He sent me a short, crytpic email three days before killing himself. And I knew something was wrong. But he was cryptic – letting me know something was wrong and saying goodbye (it turns out) without triggering me to high alert so that I would get in touch with the brothers in the hope of a successful intervention.
He was the most peaceful, loving, kind and generous man. He gave so much to so many. He was in the right place and then he so wasn’t.
It is a great sorrow, his death. How he died. The koan of why he died. The fact that those who love and understand him were not there with him, to help him find a better way.
Was his death a meaningful one? Yes. I think so. Shocking and painful. And an unmistakeable invitation to look deeply into precisely such things as a meaningful life and a meaningful death.
It has been eight days since he killed himself. It will take far longer to understand and learn from this, to recover from the pain and shock. To accept the surreal fact that I will never again enjoy a cup of tea or a country ramble with this dear friend. My brother Phap Kinh.
I’ve shared a lot with wise friends in the wake of this happening. We’ve talked about different teachings and schools of spiritual thought on death and what comes after. It is all guesswork. Guesses made by the living. To comfort ourselves and try to understand this greatest of all mysteries when of course the only way to know is to make the journey. Phap Kinh is on that journey now. I hope and pray it is a gentle and kind one, filled with the love and peace that ultimately eluded him in his embodied human life.
