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At 68, Death Made Me More Alive: A Zen Reflection

At 68, Death Made Me More Alive: A Zen Reflection

Last updated on: April 11, 2026 at 7:14 am by Larry Jordan

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At 68, Death Made Me More Alive: A Zen Reflection 2026-04-11T07:14:18-05:00 Larry Jordan

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Don’t Fear the Reaper

A glimpse of mortality can bring attention and presence to our lives. At age 68, death is present to me in a way that it was NOT present only a few years ago.

Zen teacher John Tarrant tells a touching story about Issan Dorsey, seen by some as a “Zen saint,” who ministered to people with HIV until he himself died from complications linked to AIDS:

“A friend was helping him come back from the bathroom. They paused on the first-floor landing. The friend… was overwhelmed by feeling, a previously unheard-of event. He took a deep breath and said, ‘I’ll miss you, Issan.’ Issan turned his large, liquid, seductive eyes on his friend and said, ‘I’ll miss you too. Where are you going?’”

In Zen, we often say that there is no birth, and there is no death. Image from StockCake/in the public domain

In Zen, we often say that there is no birth, and there is no death. Image from StockCake/In the public domain

There is No Birth, and There is No Death

In Zen, we often say that there is no birth, and there is no death. That does NOT mean that we are not extracted from a birth canal or lowered into a grave. Rather, between our births and deaths, we occupy a unique place in space and time, in apparent separation. Before our births and after our deaths, we may remain in the Emptiness of Ultimate Reality, in an essential lack of separation.

(Generally, Buddhist teachings affirm that there is NOT a permanent, unchanging, independent self or soul. Still, some believe in a surviving essence, and some believe in reincarnation.)

The other day, a good friend was sharing about the death of her adult daughter. “Sometimes, I wonder where she is. Then, I realized that she’s everywhere.” Yes, she always was; she always will be. And for a time, she occupied a unique place in space and time. Her mortal life was a precious gift to her and to us.

At 68 years old, I might be considered an “elderly man.” Although I still have much of my health and most of my marbles, I do NOT have the same physical fitness or mental acuity that I once had. So I can walk for 10 or 15 miles, but I might need to take a long nap afterwards. In fact, I sleep so much that sometimes, my afternoon nap interferes with my evening nap.

Singer-songwriter Warren Zevon used to say, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” That does NOT sound so bad to me. Wherever Zevon is now, he is likely NOT suffering from the cancer that killed him. Now, some of my family and friends who are my age are dying, and I have an occasional health scare myself. Death is present to me in a way that it was NOT present only a few years ago.

A Glimpse of Mortality Can Bring Attention and Presence to Our Lives

Typically, I keep my cars for 10 or 15 years, and I know that my last car might be my “last” car. There are many things that I may not do again. For instance, I may not see the Grand Canyon again. That’s OK. In fact, it’s more than OK. I was lucky to see the Grand Canyon three times, to hike to the bottom once.

Death is sobering, NOT terrifying, to me. Buddhism teaches us to reflect on the inevitability and unpredictability of death. This helps to live with intention, overcome fear and reduce attachments.

These days, I live life with intention. For instance, I spend as much time as possible with my three young grandsons. When we are together, they have my attention. When I see them, I always say, “I’m so glad that you’re here,” or “You always brighten my day.” After I’m gone, maybe someone who loves them will say those things. And they might remember how much their Papa loved them.

When I talk with friends, I often say, “It’s good to hear your voice.” That is my way of saying that I appreciate their presence and that I am being fully present with them. Also, when I meet people, I often say, “I’m so glad that we met,” or “I hope that we see each other again,” and I mean it.

Even a glimpse of mortality can bring attention and presence to our lives.

If I See Grandma Again, It Will Be Icing on the Cake

I wrote about the cosmic soup here. When someone asked me what I thought happens when we die, I told her that I think that we are stirred into the cosmic soup. Our matter returns to the Earth. Our energy returns to the Universe. We return like waves to the Ocean. Although the Ocean will continue to produce waves, it will NOT produce the same wave twice.

Sometimes I say (with a wink) that I enjoyed being Larry Jordan for 68 years, but I do NOT know if I would enjoy being Larry Jordan forever. So I might rather be stirred into the cosmic soup. And I am NOT presumptuous enough to say that the energy and matter that was lent to Larry Jordan should be re-lent to yet another Larry Jordan. Surely, the Universe has higher aspirations.

Many people like to think that they will see Grandma again. I get it. In a way, I might like to live forever, to retain my individuality, and to see my Grandma again. But I do NOT expect any of that. Were any or all of those things to happen, it would be icing on the cake.

My parents are still living into their 90s, and I might look forward to a long life, too. That’s OK. In fact, it’s more than OK. If I am fortunate enough to live for another 20 or 30 years, I will relish it. And I will be glad that I relished my life, especially after I glimpsed my mortality.

In fact, I wish that I had glimpsed my mortality sooner, since I might have brought more attention and presence to my life when I was younger.

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The Way received a 2024 Nautilus Book Award.

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About Larry Jordan

Larry Jordan is a follower of Jesus with a Zen practice. He wrote “The Way,” informed by the Eastern religions, the mystics, and the quantum physicists. "The Way" won a 2024 Nautilus Book Award. You can read more about the author here.

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