Fame is a bee.
It has a song—
It has a sting—
Ah, too, it has a wing. (Emily Dickinson)
Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind. (Henry James)
After the animation of meeting old friends in the churchyard, a natural hush descends as we pass through the heavy oak doors and file into the pews on either side of the centrally placed willow coffin. I roll up my cardigan for some lumbar support against the straight bench, lean back, and let the space work on me—the high vaults, stained glass windows, and symmetrical architecture—very familiar from my pre-Buddhist past. My mother was the caretaker of a church and I used to attend service every Sunday as well as mid-week in my nunnery high school, often playing the church organ. I notice how much more relaxed I feel now, several decades later, freed from a certain heady intensity of trying to figure out God and the weight of irrational guilt.
The minister, a master of ceremony I can tell by the easy deliberateness of his moves, steps forward and rings a meditation bell—an unusual sound in a church, yet one that was very familiar to our deceased friend, a mindfulness teacher and trainer, consultant psychiatrist, founder of charities, saxophone player, kayaker, and family man. As the sound dissolves into silence, Alistair’s presence expands in our collective awareness, or so it feels like, and it becomes stronger and more nuanced as the day unfolds with photos of his often-smiling, gently mischievous face and stories and testimonies celebrating his life and character. His daughter takes the mic during the reception and recounts an instant near the end of this life when they sat together on a bench, watching the grandchildren play. He told her that “being kind is the most important thing in life.”
There is nothing like a funeral to stir up reflections about priorities and the meaning of life. Love clearly belongs there, as extolled by religions worldwide and through the ages.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. . . . Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. (The Bible)
Listening afresh to the reading of Paul’s famous letter to the Corinthians during the funeral service, I would have added, “Love is forgiving of sometimes failing to love.” But still, these are inspiring words and I like the mention of patience as the first attribute of love—so ordinary and all-pervading. Every day offers countless opportunity to offer small kindnesses of forbearance to the world: not recoiling at a friend’s bad breath; listening on the phone to someone painfully lost in their story of woe; or waiting for an inexperienced, flustered call center assistant to seek advice from their manager—I admit to failing at that one and hanging up on her. It is as much about what you do as what you refrain from doing. William Wordsworth wrote: “The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.”
Everyone knows, and research confirms, that what matters in our final evaluation of our own lives is not our possessions or the professional accolades we have accumulated, but the relationships we are embedded in, whether we have resolved any conflicts, and whether our actions have been authentically aligned with our deepest values. Have we been kind to others and true to ourselves? What matters at the end is not so much what we have achieved materially, but who we have become and whether we can depart from this world feeling relaxed and at ease in our own company and with our loved ones.
During Alistair Wilson’s funeral service, my main response was one of pleasure in witnessing a life well lived and completed, having touched a large group of people, judging by the crowd assembled. He died of cancer in his late sixties, just a year older than me and well below the average lifespan in the UK—but nobody called it a premature ending. And there were other feelings and questions in me as well, somewhat less comfortable to behold. At what stage is the arc of my own life? Are there things that I would regret not having developed more fully?
And I couldn’t help but wonder what people might say at my funeral, given that my own life has not fitted into neat categories of family and career, and any contributions would perhaps be harder to perceive and verbalize. In my late twenties and thirties for example, when Alistair dedicated himself to his clinical work and raising children, I lived in Buddhist communities—first in London and then at Taraloka retreat center for women. When people ask me what I do, I notice how I sometimes want to make my unconventional CV look impressive by stating how much time I have spent on retreats over the years, the pioneering mindfulness classes I started—Alistair’s first eight-week mindfulness course was with me— my artwork, the books I have written, oh, and I also got a PhD!
As we circulated around the assembly with our glasses, asking of each how we knew Alistair, I told a couple of friends in the mindfulness scene that story of being his first mindfulness teacher—it seemed like people were interested to hear it, but I felt a little uncertain about my motivation. Did I just want to create connection and contribute to the emerging narrative of Alistair’s life or was this some kind of bragging, a kind of vicarious status-seeking? Maybe a bit of both?
The meaning-making and transformational aspects of love are directly related to this deeply engrained habit of us human beings to try and “be someone.” “Love doesn’t boast,” it says in the letter to the Corinthians and Buddhism advocates loving-kindness and other practices as ways to dissolve the illusion of a fixed, separate self. No self—nothing to boast about and nobody boasting. And yet, there is love, beyond subject and object—a deeply liberating, blissful realization. I do my best to keep track of this vision, while accepting the parts in me that can have ulterior motives in expressing kindness: being a touch self-congratulatory maybe, or somewhat transactional, calculating what I may get back in return.
What is called for is self-understanding and self-compassion, rather than judgement and self-flagellation. Research confirms this: guilt can trigger defensiveness while kindness toward ourselves enables learning and growth.* It helps to see our erroneous views as universal predispositions, part of our wiring, and not so much as a personal failing. Then we can apply ourselves more enthusiastically to the task of re-wiring, for example learning to “take in the good,” as neuropsychologist Rick Hanson recommends, savoring positive experiences to counteract the brain’s negativity bias and letting a sense of fulfillment take root in us. Our interactions with others can then be clearer of self-interest. Otherwise, we are in trouble, as the historian Yuval Noah Harari says:
If we take the original crusade in medieval Christian Europe, you have all these people who can’t live a Christian life of modesty and compassion and love your neighbour, but they are able to travel thousands of kilometres to kill people and try to force them to live according to these principles. And what we are witnessing in the world right now is more of the same. (The Guardian)
It is a shame that we don’t have more inspiring role models in the public domain; it would make such a difference. Witnessing unabashed bragging, lying, cruelty, and self-interest in politicians and other influential people erodes trust and undermines meaning. All the more important to consciously embrace an ethical framework for ourselves and understand that turning ourselves into more empathetic and generous, and therefore happier people happens through daily training. It is not so much a question of abiding by certain “precepts” given from on high, but it is common sense based on observation: harsh speech creates distance; dishonesty erodes trust; taking more than we need perpetuates craving; intoxication clouds our judgment and can lead to harm we later regret. And in reverse: honest, sensitively attuned speech creates closeness and trust; generosity leads to the cascading of more generosity and clarity of mind enables us to respond rather than react. Each choice rewires our brains—neuroplasticity means the muscles of kindness actually grow stronger with practice. We’re training in love as a way of being rather than just craving for an elusive feeling. It requires intention, repetition, and willingness to choose love even when it costs us something. And when we fail—as we will—self-compassion rather than self-criticism enables us to learn.
Alistair set up and supported a bike shop that employs people with special needs. He also was the co-founder of a charitable mindfulness organization, providing a service that sets the inner foundations for relieving suffering. There are many strands to a meaning-making narrative, ranging from the personal, the more public and the systemic. I think it is okay to be proud of ourselves for stretching ourselves to our full potential within our given circumstances. Celebration acknowledges the value of what we’ve done and keeps us going; bragging seeks to prove our worth relative to others and keeps us stuck in egotism. A practice that helps me navigate this distinction is “giving away the merits” at the end of meditation: I can appreciate positive states, acknowledge my growing skill in cultivating them, and express my genuine desire to be of benefit to others, without claiming them as proof of my superiority or existential substantiality. It could be in the form of a phrase, such as “may this benefit all beings,” or an out-breath from the heart. This practice of releasing what we’ve cultivated prepares us for the ultimate letting go into death.
Let’s give the final word to the Dalai Lama:
I believe compassion to be one of the few things we can practice that will bring immediate and long-term happiness to our lives . . . something that will bring true and lasting happiness. The kind that sticks. (Charter for Compassion)
* Self-Compassion: Theory, Method, Research, and Intervention by Kristin D Neff (National Library of Medicine)
See more
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (The Bible)
How to live a good life in difficult times: Yuval Noah Harari, Rory Stewart and Maria Ressa in conversation (The Guardian)
A Guide to Cultivating Compassion in Your Life, With 7 Practices (Charter for Compassion)
Related features from BDG
Circles of Life and Death, Part One: Recalling Thich Nhat Hanh and Black Elk
Dancing around Death: Meeting Denial with Courage and Compassion
On Relationships, Greed, and Generosity
Cultivating a Buddhist Perspective on Life
Beginner’s Mind: Self-Compassion: Learning to Hear Myself
