Death is, that is all.įor the man on death row who is in lockdown, the one who raped and killed an eleven year old girl, the one whose eyes stare into mine through the food port in his narrow cell door, any thought about “saving his soul” destroys the truth of the moment. ![]() In the view of the radical optimist, there is no good death, no bad death. People often ask me about having a “good death.” Death is just death. So what is there to be optimistic about anyway? When I sit with a dying person or men in max in the local penitentiary, if one thought of outcome rears its head, I kill the truth of the moment. All beings, including you and me, are heading straight down the highway of death. As she related this incident to me twenty years later, she said very simply that she would do nothing different.ĭeath is inevitable. The parents of the dead child reminded her that they had told her the child would die. ![]() When she awakened in the morning, the baby was dead. She washed and fed her, put the little one into her bed, and they both fell asleep. When she asked why they were not doing anything for the baby, the mother simply replied that it was going to die. ![]() When she asked what was happening with the baby, the mother told her it was dying. The baby seemed to be quite ill and neglected. My friend, Susanna Valadez, as a young anthropologist staying with Huichol Indians in Mexico, encountered a large Huichol family as they passed through the village in which she was living.
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