A guru told me—with a certainty I couldn’t help but envy—that the dead do not feel pain. When we die, she said, we survey it all: the whole complex human catastrophe we’ve left behind. We see patterns and designs from the great distance of death, and understand our life’s purpose, after the fact. An expert in the philosophy of yoga pointed me to a book on karma. The director of a holistic institute promised me that when I got to the other side of my own searing pain, I would be set free.
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