Last thought before death -- what it says about us

A few nights ago, as I was going to sleep, an idea popped into my mind: "There'll be a moment when I have my last thought before I die. What would I want it to be?"

Intuitively, this struck me as an important question.

That last thought would be infinitely precious, in a way. It'd reflect what I considered to be most important to focus on an instant before earthly existence and I parted company.

(Note: I don't believe in an unearthly existence. And I realize that probably I won't know when my last thought is happening. But there's a good chance I'll realize that I'm at death's door, even if the exact moment I step through is a mystery.)

I ran through several options. None felt right.

I wanted my last thought to be meaningful, not "did I remember to turn the stove off?" I appreciate the final submission on this "last thoughts" discussion thread -- that final joint was awesome -- but I was looking for something with a bit more gravitas.

Before too long three words came to mind. I imagined saying them to myself. Then I envisioned saying them out loud to whoever was with me when I died. In either scenario, they worked for me.

"I love you."

Hope you're not disappointed. But, hey, this is my last thought, so I get to pick it, no matter how clichéd it might seem to anyone else.

Now, our 21st wedding anniversary was yesterday, so love has been on my mind. (Every year I'm grateful that my wife and I got married on St. Patrick's day, because this makes it almost impossible for me to forget our anniversary.)

When I wrote a message on a card for Laurel, which I left next to a bouquet of hand-picked flowers from our garden, I told her about my last thought. When I started writing (actually, printing, as my handwriting is so bad even my wife can't read it) about how I wanted "I love you" to be the final words in my dying brain, tears started flowing.

That told me I had picked a pretty damn right-on last thought.

Emotionally, saying "I love you" as death's darkness faded in seemed absolutely perfect. I've done a lot of good and bad, acted like a saint and a sinner, screwed up and made amends, been a jerk and a decent guy.

But in the end -- and there will be one, for sure -- all of that stuff seemed to fade into insignificance next to "I love you."

I was mainly thinking of my wife with that you. However, when I let my mind run free, images of so many other "you's" appear almost unbidden. They're all included in the final word of my last thought.

You too, you who are reading this blog post, whether or not you're a regular visitor to this here Church of the Churchless. I've gotten so much meaning, satisfaction, and happiness from writing my irreligious musings the past six-plus years, and from reading the comments of other people.

I guess I have an expansive view of love. I love the coffee I'm sipping right now at a downtown Salem coffee house. I love the lighted keys on my MacBook Pro. I love the cheese ravioli that I chowed down before starting to compose this post.

There's no limit to love.

Ultimately -- and why not go there in my last thought? -- I'm talking to the entire cosmos when I say "I love you." Meaning, I don't envision a personal Cosmic You who could hear those words.

No God. No divine consciousness. No savior of humanity. Still, I feel that telling everything in existence "I love you" is entirely appropriate, just as saying "Thank you" is.

But I'm me, nobody else. Everybody is going to have a different way of envisioning his or her last thought. So if you want to share what yours might be, comment away, recognizing that what actually passes through my or your mind at our last moment could be very different from what we expect.

(Shit! Truck! Fuck! I can't believe... are all distinct possibilities, along with countless others.)

Comments

[Steven Sashen]

I got to think about this question in real-time, 22 years ago.

I was captured and held at gunpoint (machine gun point, to be exact), during the Tien An Men Square demonstration. Six soldiers (kids who were scared to death, jacked up on amphetamines, and using Russian machine guns that looked like they'd fire if you breathed wrong) were deciding which one was going to shoot me.

I didn't try to create my last thought, since I had no idea when they would pull the trigger.

But from the time I was captured, over and over, I thought, "Well, if the Buddha was right and my last thought determines my next rebirth... I hope I get a good one."

The other thought I kept having was, "I just want to KNOW that I'm dying... just for a moment... rather than be snuffed out."

I no longer believe in the "last thought/rebirth" idea, nor am I so self-aggrandizing that I think my death will be unlike the majority (which are not neat and pretty and don't involve awareness of a last thought).

[Willie R]

It seems that I have spent my entire life trying to figure out what my own "last thought" might be. Going even further - my life seems to be a resistive gesture against an energetic process which is inevitable and entirely beyond comprehension. I have tentatively concluded that my thoughts are simply irrelevant. That does not halt the thinking process, however. As I live, I tend to make the assumption that thinking will actually cease when this body ceases to function.

I am a Japanese man, living in Hiroshima. I am at ground zero in the center of the city. The Enola Gay is just moments away from releasing the atomic bomb.
The bomb detonates. Do I notice a bright, blinding flash of light? What if I do? Do things get awfully hot? Are my brain and nerves vaporized before any sensations can occur? What does that mean? Do I have a last thought? Did I ever exist?

What's the difference between vaporizing in less than a second and vaporizing over decades in a coffin?

Hmmmmmm....to be continued. Or not?

[Suki]

We will not when we are dead.Just like we do not know when we are born.NO before or after.We only know now.And,what we know now while alive is what exactly?

[Suki]

We will not know when we are dead,just like we do not know when we are born.We only know now,while we are alive.And what do we know now in this moment,what is it exactly?

[Blogger Brian]

Willie R, I agree that one's last thought is pretty much meaningless -- the actual last thought, at least.

What I find meaningful is how I think about my last thought now, while I'm alive with a good prospect of continuing to live for quite a while longer.

Thinking about my last thought points me in the direction of what sorts of thoughts I'd like to have before that final one. This clues me in to whether I'm living my favored sort of life, or gotten stuck in an unchosen habitual sort of life.

[Karl Coryat]

So you're the guy who sits in the cafe for hours with the laptop....

I want my last thought to be, "I did everything that I wanted to do." Initially I scratched my head at this question, but you're right, it is meaningful to think about it while we're alive. And thinking about it makes me realize that if I don't do everything I want to do in life, I won't be able to think that last thought, will I!

[Willie R]

Karl - it sounds like you are assuming that you are going to live long enough to actually accomplish your brain's "to do" list, and that your brain is simply going to capitulate and stop making plans. Good luck with that!

Blogger Brian - while, statistically, you actually do have a very good prospect of living quite a bit longer, you mentioned in your HinesSight blog that the Japan nuke reactor situation made you order iodine tablets, just in case.
You can be sure that, when you are an octogenarian (spelling?), you are going to feel the same way about situations that can affect your survival. Long-term survival, I must remind all and sundry, is not a cure for death.

Willie R - you are an asshole. Oh wait - that's me! Too bad for me - I'm still an asshole.

[Dogribb]

And the answer is....The fact of our own being !And I disappear in a poof of nonduality....lol Thanks Suki., I wish it was that easy

[Adam]

Hi Brian,
Thanks for this post. I've been reading your blog since 2007, and it has become like a good friend, something I keep returning to. Before reading this post I had just been thinking about how I was grateful for your blog, and how as an American who dabbles in meditation, etc. your perspective has reflected so much of my own back to me.