We often perceive death as a sudden occurrence. Even when someone with a terminal illness is nearing the end, we tend to see death as an abrupt event—here one moment, gone the next. However, nature teaches us that death is a gradual process, with signs appearing long before the final moment.
“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.”
Marcus Aurelius
A useful analogy is found in seasonal plants. In summer, they flourish, but as fall approaches, their leaves change colour and eventually wither. This gradual transformation signals the end of their life cycle. Similarly, in humans, this process is called ageing. Our physical vitality peaks in our twenties, then gradually declines. Our emotions transition from the adventurous spirit of youth to the more reflective and settled mindset of maturity.
Modern culture often distracts us from acknowledging our mortality, pushing us to defer our sense of fulfilment by constantly seeking the next achievement. Despite the inevitability of ageing, we mask it with beauty products, surgeries, hair dye, and rigorous exercise. These efforts are attempts to delay, control, or conceal the unavoidable process of dying. Ernest Becker in his classic work ‘The Denial of Death’ sums it up succinctly by saying,
“The idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else; it is a mainspring of human activity—activity designed largely to avoid the fatality of death, to overcome it by denying in some way that it is the final destiny for man.
We often avoid discussing or contemplating death. When a loved one dies, we typically dwell on the circumstances of their death, potential preventions, and healthcare failures. Rarely do we hear someone accept it stoically, saying, “It was their time.” This acceptance of death as a natural part of life is largely absent today.
However, this was not always the case. In earlier times and even today, in pre-modern societies, death is always abroad. It is not just the old that die, the young and healthy die too. This fact is accepted. The Stoics, in particular, urged us to remind ourselves of the inevitable, ever so often. This, they said, should not make us sad, but should alert us to the shortness of life. We use this opportunity to truly value the things, people and relationships we have with us, right now, instead of hankering for the next experience. By accepting that each moment, each situation, and each set of circumstances is transient, we can fully engage with life. The realization that tomorrow is not guaranteed infuses our lives with a sense of vibrancy and aliveness. This deep immersion in the present diminishes our desire to constantly seek new possessions or experiences.
Modern consumer culture is rooted in the denial of death. This denial fuels a perpetual belief in a better tomorrow. Instead of appreciating and savouring the present moment, with all its imperfections, we project our fears and anxieties onto an imagined future in an attempt to alleviate them.
The first step to come out of this illusion is to face the fact boldly and accept death. Observing our bodies reveals the signs of ageing—thinning hair, greying, sagging skin, and aching backs. We acknowledge that we will never be as we once were, and that’s okay. Like a tree shedding its leaves, our dying process has begun. This is a profound and sobering reality, but one we must accept. As we recognise this, a sense of dispassion (Vairagya in Sanskrit) is a natural outcome. We stop accumulating things. We begin to clean our garages. We begin to get our finances in order. And as we start doing this, we notice a lightness in our being. We feel free. Not necessarily immensely happy. But free. A freedom tinged with poignancy.
Accepting this truth reveals an urgent imperative: we must stop postponing our happiness. The future will never be perfect, especially if death is part of it. So, what should we do? Succumb to despondency? That’s an option, but is it one we desire? Consider this: the present is a blank canvas, and we can choose how to paint our lives. Do we want to face the process of dying with despair, or do we wish to exit with peace, happiness, and the light of our contented souls? Any rational person would choose the latter.
Happiness, then, becomes a conscious choice—deciding who we want to be in the here and now. This shift changes our perspective. Instead of constantly seeking the next acquisition, we ask, “How can I bring joy and peace to this ordinary moment?” This responsibility for our happiness brings freedom and contentment, for nothing in the future can provide this joy. Only we can. We don’t need to travel the world, find another relationship, or acquire more material things. We will engage with the world, people, and objects to express ourselves, not to achieve an illusory future. This subtle yet critical difference defines our approach to life.
Consider a person who uses knitting needles, yarn, and time to express creativity, producing a beautiful woollen sweater. Contrast this with a factory owner who sees these as mere “raw materials” for generating a profitable product. In the first scenario, tools and technologies become “sacred” as they facilitate the expression of love and creativity. In the second, everything is reduced to a means to an end, chasing an imaginary future of wealth.
The shift we need to make is to realize we are all in the process of dying. And that process is beautiful. A baby has to die to become a toddler. A toddler dies to become a young boy. The young boy dies to give birth to an adolescent. The teen dies to become a young man. And when the old man dies, he transforms into something we don’t know, but intuit. As Tagore beautifully said,
“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”
Death, after all is simply a process.
Journey of a thousand words 