Lynn is making progress in her recovery ! We expect to have her back helping you with your miracles very soon!
Here is the recording from the previous year:
The current class video will be dropped on this page the Friday After Class.
Here is the recording from the previous year:
Copyright (r) 2007 Lynn Woodland
Modern culture attitudes about death have been undergoing a radical shift since the second half of the last century. Starting in the 1960s with the groundbreaking work of Elizabeth Kubler Ross, M.D., who taught us how to grieve and look death squarely in the face, we’ve begun to bring death out the realm of the taboo. Previously, in an era of technological miracles and our ever-increasing mastery over the world around us, death remained the ultimate force of nature beyond our control to conquer. It was the enemy, our deepest fear, and not to be spoken of openly any more than the intimate details of our sex lives.
Somewhere in the 1980s, I recall browsing through a bookstore shelf in the “Death and Dying” section, and being struck by how many titles included the words grief, grieving, loss, surviving, coping. They evidenced a growing honesty and compassion around assisting the dying and dealing with loss, but no hint of anything transformative to be found in the process. The very titles of these books seemed to shout out the pain and heaviness with which we shroud the final stage of life.
By the 1990s, though, a new trend was appearing. The same shelves were now packed with such titles as Transformed by the Light, Embraced by the Light, Saved by the Light—all books describing experiences of people who have glimpsed “Light” after death and lived to tell about it. This fascination with the Light and what’s on the other side of death has steadily grown. A number of psychics who claim to communicate with those who’ve died have been catapulted to mainstream success and any number of popular TV shows have to do with the paranormal and, in particular, with “crossing over.”
Physics is showing us that at its most fundamental level, all matter is made of light. Those who experience the Light directly, through mystical or near-death experiences, hold it synonymous with unconditional love. This is the substance of the universe—awesome, powerful, and transforming—a substance that our physical senses are blind to, yet is always there to heal and empower us. The brink of death frees us from our physical limitations and we become aware of our true nature. It’s no new idea to think of birth as a connection to the miraculous and, just as there is a shining of Light through the doorway of birth that transports us out of mundane reality, we’re now realizing the doorway of death holds just as much opportunity.
But the fundamental difference is still there: birth leaves us with a new living body while death takes one away. Death invariably challenges us to see beyond the illusions of the physical world or be victimized by them. If we don’t learn to define ourselves as more than flesh that dies, we succumb to the pain and vulnerability of this reality. Until we can recognize the eternal nature of love that transcends the physical separation of death, we’re faced with countless heartbreaks that make love seem limited and futile.
To the extent that we identify with our physical body, we must fear death; and as we fear death, we can’t fully live in the present or fully connect with the powerful light of unconditional love that exists beyond our physical senses. To understand the impact of belief, take a moment to imagine the following:
Exercise I: Examining Beliefs about Death
Regardless of what you think about death, imagine for a moment what it feels like to believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that your existence will end totally with the death of your physical body. Everything precious to you will be gone; everyone precious to you will be gone; there will be no more love, no joy, no consciousness, nothing…. How does this way of looking at death affect your experience of life in the present?
Imagine yourself getting older and watching your body age. What does it feel like to imagine your own aging process when you believe that your existence ends with your body? What would it be like for you if you were to contract a serious illness? What if someone you loved became seriously ill? How do you imagine coping with the deaths of people you love?
As you imagine life from this perspective, how does your body feel? Where in your body do you feel tension or relaxation, comfort or discomfort? Close your eyes for a moment and imagine these things before going on to the next paragraphs.
Now, take a couple of deep breaths and release that view of reality…. This time, Imagine how it feels to believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is an essence within you that is not your physical body and can never be harmed. This essence consists of only the loving, peaceful aspects of what you think of as your “self:” the part of you that experiences wisdom, compassion, and joy. Feel what your life would be like if you truly believed that no matter what happens, the part of you that experiences love, peace, and well-being could never be taken away….
Imagine how this belief affects how you go through life. See yourself growing older and imagine what the experience is like when you know that you can’t be harmed. How would you deal with the experience of a life-threatening illness? How does it feel to be with someone who’s seriously ill or dying, knowing the essence of this person is eternal and beyond harm, and that the loving relationship between you is also eternal?
How does your body feel as you look at life this way? Close your eyes for a moment and imagine life from this perspective….
Now take some time to reflect on the differences in these two ways of living life.
Death and the Fear of Losing Control
Many of us fear terrible, painful deaths over which we’ll have no control. But, the more acquainted I become with people at the end of their lives, the more it seems to me that we tend to die in a similar fashion as we’ve lived: according to our temperament, and much more in control of the process than we think.
Working as Director of a Center for Attitudinal Healing, I witnessed many people’s final months of life. The people who experienced the most pain and suffering were those most filled with fear and bitterness. These were people who’d been stuck between not wanting to live and not wanting to die before the onset of their illness, and their dying process reflected the same dilemma. One such woman I counseled was filled with anger at her life, cancer being just one more reason for deep disappointment. Her ending months were spent in the hospital in pain and rage. Her rage became so difficult to be around that her family could barely tend her. Her illness stretched out longer and longer, past her doctor’s prognosis. She just wouldn’t die, until finally, in her very last days, she reached a place of peace. Her anger left her. She was no longer afraid or in pain; she was able to say good-bye to her family with love; and soon, she peacefully died.
If your own death is something you think about rarely or reluctantly, or if you fear the painful or lingering deaths you’ve witnessed among people close to you, decide now to become the creator of your death, not its victim. The following questions and exercise are a starting place.
Questions for Thought
What do you believe about the end of your life? Do you see yourself as an old person? If so, how old? If you can’t imagine yourself at seventy, eighty, or ninety, what’s the oldest you can envision? Does this age match the age of death of your parents, grandparents, or other close members of your family? To some extent, we learn how to die from our family models, and start to envision (and create) our own deaths accordingly. What do you think you learned about dying from your family?
Exercise II: Create Your Dying
Write a story about yourself as a very old person nearing the end of your life. Write this as someone who has experienced a deeply fulfilling life. As you look back, you see how even the failures and disappointments had a purpose, teaching you something you needed for your next step. You have the perspective of an older and wiser person and can acknowledge your accomplishments, accepting that they didn’t all match your hopes, plans, and expectations. You feel warmth and gratitude for the love you shared with people and, now that many of your loved ones have died, you look forward to making the transition they have already made.
Picture yourself as healthy and vital, even at an advanced age, and your life filled with love, meaning, and serenity. Describe what you do in a day, what you think about, what gives you pleasure.
Continue on to the event of your death. Picture it as you wish it to be. See who is with you, where you are, what the cause of death is, and what the final moment of letting go is like. Describe the experience of releasing your body to a wonderful sense of freedom and joy.
Finally, tell how the people who love you celebrate your passing and imagine your funeral or memorial.
Fulfilling Life Purpose in Dying
I’ve come to believe that the time leading up to death, far from being just the unavoidable winding down of the physical body, is a profoundly meaningful learning time during which we resolve and complete the deepest lessons of our lives. Even those deaths that seem like random, cruel blows of fate, unbefitting the dignity of a person’s earlier years, hold unexpected gifts and, perhaps, hidden purposes.
Alzheimer’s is one of the “tragic” endings many of us fear and I know a man whose father developed it shortly into retirement after a lifetime of hard work. He supported five children and devoted himself to a company that didn’t reciprocate his loyalty, firing him when he was nearing retirement age and had been “used up.” Alzheimer’s seemed like a sad finish to the life he’d lived and the person he’d been. It wasn’t long before his middle aged son had to take care of him like a child.
During these years of illness, the son spent many days taking his father along with him wherever he went and said it was the first time he’d ever felt close to the man. He described a time he had even taken his father to his weekly therapy session, and was amazed by his father’s sudden and unusual moment of lucidity: when asked by the therapist if he understood why he’d been invited to the session he responded, “To show my son that I love him.” Then he lapsed back into forgetfulness.
Here was a man who’d never been affectionate or emotionally demonstrative, who devoted himself to what he thought were his duties: working hard for his family and his company. Maybe Alzheimer’s enabled him finally to set down the role of provider and allow some softness into his life that he may never have accepted in his “right mind.” Perhaps, in the end, this was his perfect retirement.
Becoming a Healer in Dying
The more we identify with limitations of the physical world, the more we believe ourselves to be useless and our lives purposeless when our physical bodies lose their health and ability. Yet, as we know ourselves to be spiritual beings with life and resources beyond the visible and the physical, our lives continue to have meaning no matter what the condition of our physical, and even mental, functioning.
One such example of this was the aunt of my childhood friend. She lived well into her nineties and developed Alzheimer’s later in life. Her last two years were spent in a hospice where she was sent because everyone believed she had less than six months to live. By that time she had little memory at all in the way we think of memory. She couldn’t remember what had happened the day before or five minutes before, or even the last sentence she just finished speaking. She had only fuzzy recognition of family members and others, and she was bedridden. She lived many people’s worst nightmare.
Yet there was something magical about her. The hospice attendants found themselves gravitating to her room when they felt down because they always felt better in her presence. Family members of another hospice resident continued to visit her even after their own relative had died. She chattered happily in conversation that many would say was cryptic, delusional, and nonsensical, describing trips she had made up through the ceiling and into fantastic other realms. Just when one was ready to write off her ramblings as meaningless, she would say something startlingly mysterious, referring casually to specific details of something that was troubling one of her visitors, details she had no explainable way of knowing. She seemed to know when someone was upset and had comforting words and sage advice that went right to the heart.
I had known her since I was a teenager and I sometimes accompanied my friend on visits to the hospice. Though she was friendly and personable in her early years, there was something different about her in these last years, a newfound ability to reach people. I will never forget a day I went to see her, feeling out of sorts and not really in the mood for a hospice visit. As we walked in the door, her face lit up and she talked on and on about how beautiful we both were, how wonderful the day was and how “romantic” life is! Little by little I found myself drawn into her world, where each moment is fresh and new. The magic fully hit me as I watched my friend talking to her aunt, a softness transforming her face from the competent, pragmatic middle-aged woman she has grown into over the years to the fresh innocence I hadn’t seen in her since we were teenagers. I wondered if my face reflected the same.
Her son said that witnessing his mother during this time of her life changed his whole concept of death. He no longer looks upon it as frightening and unknown. In her last years she seemed to take little peeks into the next world and come back to reassure those around her that it’s all right; that there’s nothing to fear.
Five years prior to her death, she moved from her hometown to another city half a continent away, in order to be closer to her son. She was already severely disabled, physically and mentally, at the time of her move, yet at her funeral there were more than sixty people present, most of whom had known her only in this latter chapter of her life. All had been touched, healed, and changed by their contact with her.
While some, looking from the outside, might view her ending as a horribly unpleasant one, those closer in knew she became a healer in those last years. Toward the very end she was tired much of the time, less talkative and less intelligible; but in a most lucid moment she summed it up herself by saying, “My life now is about reconciliation and love. I am so glad I stayed to do this post-work!”
We’re Never out of Control when We Identify with Our Spirit
One of the most fearsome aspects of dying is its capacity to plunge us into unbearable pain or disability. I’ve mentioned my friend Cheryl here a number of times because she modeled so well how to trust the process of life, even in the midst of profound physical disability. In spite of the increased pain and physical deterioration she feared for many of her earlier years, her life grew richer and more rewarding with every passing day, even as her body became more infirmed. Her very last day found her hospitalized, struggling for breath and medicated for pain. But even then, her life couldn’t have been further removed from the helpless pain and despair she once feared. Playfulness, love, and sensual delights filled her last hours as she conspired with friends who helped her sneak down the hall for a forbidden but luxurious shower, and then shared laughter as well as a last supper of her favorite chocolate doughnuts.
The night before, she called me in the middle of the night and said with much excitement that her lack of breath was starting to feel like the beginning of being born; she just needed to push a little harder and she’d be “out.” Shortly after her friends left the hospital that last day, Cheryl slipped out of her body. While we all wanted to be with her, we suspected she waited until she was alone because she knew we’d be upset watching her go and forget the truth of how delighted she was to be “out.”
Surrender
A repeating theme in these lessons relates to using the power of consciousness to manifest the physical reality that best serves our highest good, instead of unconsciously falling back into the life determined by our fears and negative expectations. Essentially, we’re doing the same thing this week, only here we’re creating our death.
A brief encapsulation from another lesson of what comprises an effective manifesting state is as follows:
- Following our desires
- Surrendering our attachment to specific outcomes
- Receiving gratefully whatever comes
We’ve addressed # 1, “following our desires,” by giving creative attention to the ending we’d most like. This, in and of itself, is a powerful act. Until we identify what we most want in any area of life, we tend to simply attract our unconscious expectations, for better or for worse.
The second two, “Surrendering our attachment to specific outcomes” and “Receiving gratefully whatever comes,” are all about surrendering our small vision and will to a greater plan: trusting the divine order of life; trusting that we’re safe, no matter what, and that the divine order serves our highest good far better than our personal control ever could.
The more we fear being out of control and resist facing what we fear, the more we enter into death as victims. The “right to die” movement leaves me deeply ambivalent. It seems to presume that dying is a terrible, senseless thing; better to beat it to the punch and never have to look into our darkest fears. The more we tidy up death by making suicide an acceptable and readily available option, the less opportunity we’ll have to learn life’s last and most powerful lesson: that there is nothing to fear.
As we claim our power as creators of our experience in life, we must also recognize the perfect order and rightness to the endings we “choose” and trust the journey of life and death. This next exercise is one of surrender, of going into fear and finding what happens when we free up the energy our fears have consumed.
Exercise III: Journeying Beyond the Veil of Fear
Do this exercise when you have some uninterrupted time to relax, create a sacred atmosphere, and imagine. You might want to do this meditation when you don’t have to immediately resume normal activity. Following it with a walk, a creative activity, or sleep would be ideal.
Meditation
Become comfortable, take some deep breaths and relax. Inhale deeply and exhale just as deeply several times. Let your body relax and your mind become quiet. Feel the presence of your Higher Self: the part of you that is intrinsically safe, no matter what. Let a peaceful, soothing experience of safety wash over your body: your stomach relaxes, your shoulders drop, a heavy layer of tension drains from every part of your body as you let go of defense.
Imagine the ending of your life just the way you want it to be, as you wrote it in your story. Imagine your death is drawing near as you end a life filled with richness and joy. You feel great warmth and gratitude for the love you shared with people and for all the blessings your life has held, and now that some of those you loved have died, you look forward to being reunited with them.
Envision the event of your death. Picture it as you wish it to be. See who’s with you, where you are, what the cause of death is and what it feels like right up to the final moment of letting go. Imagine the experience of releasing your body to a wonderful sense of freedom and joy. Soon the people who love you will be honoring your passing with tremendous love and gratitude for having known you. You know those you left behind are alright even in their grief, and you give yourself up completely to your next step. You release this physical world and go. See where you go. See what’s next….
And now that you’ve consciously created this experience of death and after-death, let it go. Let go of all the pictures you’ve just created. Let your hold on any particular idea of how things are going to be relax and release. Imagine that some higher, organizing principle of the universe may have something completely different in store for you and you have no idea of what it is. But you do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’re safe. So you relax.
Picture yourself relaxed and safe, surrounded by darkness—not the darkness of fear or evil—just dark. Darkness that balances light. Within this shroud of dark, bring to mind those things you most fear losing—even those things you’ve felt you couldn’t live without.
One by one, say goodbye to them and let them go. See yourself losing your job, your livelihood, and your professional identity. As these drop away, let yourself be soft and open and relaxed in the face of what you fear. Don’t resist, just allow. Imagine that you could lose all this and still be safe and alright. See what’s left when this part of your life falls away.
Picture losing your home, your possessions, your income—all the material things you believed you couldn’t live without—and imagine you would still be OK. See all these things go, and you still remain relaxed and soft in the face of your fears. See what’s left when these are gone from your life.
Imagine losing your health, your looks, your mobility, your independence, your privacy, and other things you may take for granted if you’re able-bodied. Experience what it’s like to lose all this. Just breathe and surrender in the face of your loss. Imagine that even now, you’re still okay. See what’s left when you can no longer count on your body.
Imagine losing parts of your identity that have always been with you: being smart, or funny, or attractive, or a winner, or a helper. Imagine losing your mind so you’re no longer able to reason and comprehend clearly, as with Alzheimer’s, or insanity. Consider that you could lose these aspects of your personality and still be okay. Breathe, relax, and let go. See what’s left when you lose your identity, your personality, even your mind.
Bring to mind the person, or people, you most fear losing. Imagine that what you’ve feared for so long has happened and these loved ones are no longer living. Soften and surrender into the grief of loss. Breathe into the pain, the emptiness, your aloneness, and let your heart break open. Imagine that even now, you’re still safe and whole. See what’s left when the physical presence of your loved ones is gone to you.
Bring to mind whatever frightens you the most around your death. Instead of avoiding what you fear, relax and open to it. Surrender. Allow the worst to happen—only it’s different than in your fantasies because this time, there’s no bracing against the fear or tensing against the pain. Your body is soft and open and you finally let yourself get to the other side of what you’ve feared and resisted for so long. Breathe… relax… feel. You’re safe. You know you’re alright no matter what.
And when the worst has happened, see what happens next. When you lose what you most feared losing, see what’s still left. Keep going through the darkness, deeper and deeper, no longer attached to anything; no longer resisting anything; completely free and safe in the process of life and death. Let yourself be carried, as by a current, with no struggle, no effort. Just let go and see what happens next; see what’s still there. Keep going, further and further; see where you are, who you are, what you are, what’s still left when everything gets taken away. Surrender completely to the mystery and let yourself gently float into the unknown: open, ready, completely at peace.
Complete your meditation by recalling the feeling of perfect, absolute safety and peace. Then take some deep breaths, stretch, and come back to an alert, awake consciousness. If you feel ungrounded, drink some water, put your feet on the ground and, if it’s convenient, go for a walk or do something creative before resuming the normal activity of your day.
The current class video will be dropped on this page the Friday After Class.