At the end of this excursion and its light intense expedition,
Death comes prowling with a cordial welcome,
Like an amiable genial host,
For all of us who instinctively and involuntarily,
Receive his faded invitation at the moment of our birth.

His long anticipated alleviation comes startlingly,
Only to hit us with the certainty of a sacred approach,
As we emerge into his obedient audience,
And he into our past new navigator.

We instantly exit and we enter,
Another ingredient of who we are,
-The cook prepares the feast-,
The clarity of this new mode announces,
The fearless recurrence with jubilation,
I will not resist.

Yet I’ll leave when I wish.

Embracing the Continuum of Existence

Isn’t it fascinating how death, often feared, can be viewed as a transformative journey? This piece beautifully reframes our final passage as a welcome transition rather than a dreaded end.

The image of death as a “cordial welcome” reminds me of what the philosopher Martin Heidegger meant when he said, “If I take death into my life, acknowledge it, and face it squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of life – and only then will I be free to become myself.” Death, in this view, becomes not an enemy, but a catalyst for authentic living.

In “Being and Time,” Heidegger writes, “Death is the possibility of the absolute impossibility of Dasein.” This paradoxical statement is reflected in the poem’s lines “We instantly exit and we enter, / Another ingredient of who we are,” suggesting that death is both an end and a beginning, a transformation rather than a mere cessation.

The idea of receiving death’s invitation at birth echoes what the Roman philosopher Seneca wrote: “We are born with the dead: let’s consider that we die with the born. The whole line of mankind is linked together by a natural and unbroken sequence.” Our mortality is a part of us from the beginning.

Death as an “amiable genial host” echoes Heidegger’s call to embrace our mortality as a way to live authentically. Heidegger argues that by facing our finite nature, we can live more fully and authentically in the present. This aligns with the poem’s assertion, “The clarity of this new mode announces, / The fearless recurrence with jubilation.”

When the poem speaks of death as our “past new navigator,” it brings to mind Carl Jung’s perspective: “The sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.” Death, in this sense, might be seen as the ultimate illumination.

The notion of exiting and entering simultaneously is reminiscent of T.S. Eliot’s famous lines: “We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” Death might be seen as the final exploration that brings us full circle.

The “fearless recurrence with jubilation” reminds me of Friedrich Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence. As he put it, “What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more’ … Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: ‘You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.’”

Finally, the assertion “Yet I’ll leave when I wish” echoes the Stoic philosophy of Epictetus, who said, “I must die. Must I then die lamenting? I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment?”

So what does all this mean? Perhaps it’s about reframing our relationship with death, seeing it not as an end, but as a transition, a new beginning. It’s about recognizing that our mortality can be a powerful motivator for living authentically and fully.

Remember, every moment we live with an awareness of our mortality can be a moment lived more intensely, more authentically. As the poet Mary Oliver asked, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Next time you contemplate your own mortality, consider: How can this awareness enrich your life now? Because in the end, isn’t that what makes life meaningful? This dance between life and death, this constant opportunity for transformation and growth, right up until our final breath – and perhaps beyond.