On the day I die, don’t weep.

Rumi says:

On the day I die, don’t say she’s gone.

Death has nothing to do with going away.

The sun sets and the moon sets, 

but they’re not gone.

Death is a coming together.

The human seed goes down into the ground like a bucket,

and comes up with some unimagined beauty.

Your mouth closes here, and immediately

opens with a shout of joy there.

I write these words for the visitor who fears death. I write for those who are in harm’s way, and for those who know that their death is near. I write for those who cherish someone who is dying or who has already passed. I write for all of us in that finding a courageous way  to approach our inevitable death is a crucial part of our spiritual maturity and a life well lived.

Some never accomplish it. Many delay, convincing themselves they are too young or too special to need to face this task. But death has no respect for age or status or the usual order of things. At times, parents mourn children. The elderly mourn the young. The seemingly healthy athlete doesn’t survive the game. 

Rumi speaks with the same voice as other wise mystics:

Lo, I am with you always.

You promised that, and when I realized it was true,

my soul flared up.

Any unhappiness comes from forgetting.

Remember and be back with the Friend.

When Rumi’s death was near, he was fearless and accepting. ”Have patience old Earth, ” he said. “You’ll get your sweet morsel soon.”

Rumi taught us to love every aspect of our lives–our dramas, our pain, our struggles, and yes, our deaths. Enlightened peace comes as we learn to cherish the beauty of this moment, this challenge, this journey and its end.

If you long for peace and courage about death, read and study Rumi, as translated by Coleman Barks. Read Rumi everyday for 100 days, and ask for that courage. Ask and you shall receive. It comes through grace.

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You may respond, post, or contact Dr. Lee at drvlee1234@aol.com.