The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully

by Frank Ostaseski

We fool ourselves because sometimes we can manipulate the conditions of our lives to bring us temporary happiness. It feels good in the moment, but as soon as the moment passes, we are looking for the next satisfying experience or taste. We become like “hungry ghosts,” those mythical characters with bulging stomachs, long, thin necks, and tiny mouths who can never be satisfied.

The more permeable I became, the more I realized that we humans are just bundles of ever-changing conditions. We ought to hold ourselves more lightly. Taking ourselves too seriously is the cause of much suffering. We tell ourselves that we are in charge: “Buckle up! Get this done!” When in reality, we are quite helpless, subject to the events taking place around us. But that helplessness brings us into contact with our vulnerability, which can be a doorway to awakening, to a deeper intimacy with reality.

We speak of living in the present moment. But where is this moment to be found? Is it a nanosecond that punctuates the space between past and future? To paraphrase St. Augustine, now is neither in time nor out of time. The elusive present moment is not measured by the tick-tock time of a clock, which we humans invented, nor is it separate from past or future. There is no time line, at least not as we conventionally think about it.

To be human is much more than being born, getting an education, finding the right partner, and getting a pretty house on a nice street, just so that you can sleep, wake, work, go to bed, and do it all over again. It is an invitation to feel everything, to come into direct contact with the strange, beautiful, horrible, and often perfectly ordinary thing we call life. It is an opportunity to be conscious of the fact that some of us will make love while others make war.

All humans have problems. All beings feel pain. Once I was able to accept that I had a fragile human heart and that it would take some time to heal, I could relax into acceptance of this temporarily painful situation. In so doing, my suffering also relaxed.

Attachment likes to impersonate love. It says, “I will love you if you give me what I need.” Love is focused on generosity; attachment is obsessed with getting needs met. Love is an expression of our most essential nature; attachment is an expression of the personality. Love engenders faithfulness, aligning with our values, moving with purpose; attachment clings in fear and grasps tightly to a particular end result. Love is selfless and encourages freedom; attachment is self-centered and engenders possessiveness. Attachment leaves scars. Love inclines us to gratefulness.

In meditation, we use breath to focus our attention on the present. Breathing only happens in real time. It always occurs in the here and now. This is what makes it such a powerful vehicle for direct insight. Often, we think of the present moment only as a stepping-stone on our way to some future goal. But actually, life can only be lived in the present, not in the past or in the future. And this present moment is the only place where we can rest.

Our ideas, fantasies, and physical sensations—we may think of these as solid things, but they are more like bubbles. They appear for a while, then dissolve. They come, they go. Just like us. Just like everything in the universe. We exist, and then we don’t. Each life, each occurrence, each feeling, every lovemaking, every breakfast, every atom, every planet, every solar system is fleeting. Every form takes its turn on the wheel of living and dying.

When caregivers and loved ones appear with their own agendas, memories, and needs, they become like the annoying tourists—an unpleasant distraction to those who are dying. But it need not be that way. As loved ones and caregivers, we can choose instead to act as quiet companions or trustworthy guides as the person who is dying journeys deeper into the sacred forest.