The Final Companion

I have always felt a deep resonance when listening to Alan Watts—his words touch something true within me. In the same way, I am drawn to visiting patients who are nearing death. Strangely, sitting beside them brings me peace. When I hold their hands in silence, I feel they carry a knowledge that the rest of us cannot grasp—a closeness to the truth I am seeking, the truth of life itself.

What will happen when the end comes? How will it feel? How do we prepare? Sitting with them gives me courage. It pushes me to step off the well-worn path, to move in a different direction, to keep searching for what is real.

Because when the end comes, all we strive for—money, fame, recognition, even love—what meaning do they truly hold? Sitting there, holding her hand as it trembled violently, I could almost feel her fear. Was she afraid? Her husband, who had spent nearly a lifetime by her side, leaned close to the bed and whispered:
“Honey, Ms. Connie is here to visit you. She brought you this beautiful flower. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She tried to respond, her faint voice caught between wires and tubes, life straining to hold on. In that moment, I realized: we all go alone. Love cannot follow us. Fear may be our final companion—an experience no one else can truly share or understand.

And it left me asking: why do we cling so tightly to things that cannot ease our fear when the moment comes? Why not search instead for something deeper, something that can prepare us?

In Dhamma practice, we learn the truth of impermanence. Nothing lasts. All that we cling to is fleeting and unreal. Through practice, we train ourselves to let go. If we seek earnestly enough, practice deeply enough, perhaps we will see this truth for ourselves—or at least find peace when the end arrives.

And in this searching, in this practice, I find myself living a life of excitement and wonder I have never known before.

May you all be happy.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dNZQtDfjoU

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