When Zhuangzi was about to die,
his disciples indicated their wish
to prepare a grand burial.

Zhuangzi remarked, “I shall have heaven
and earth for my coffin and its cover,
the sun and moon for my two round
symbols of jade,
the stars and the constellations
for my pearls and jewels
and all things in the universe as my mourners.
What would you add to them?”

The disciples said,
“We are afraid that the crows and kites
will eat our master.”

Zhuangzi replied,
“Above, the crows and kites will eat me;
Below, the mole-crickets and ants will eat me.

To take from one to give to the others
would only show your partiality.

Zhuangzi trans. by Hyun Höchsmann and Yang Guorong, Book 32 Lie Yukou

Its fitting that the final chapter of one’s life ought to be about one’s death. By taoist lights life does not terminate with death. A single fabric of life/death/life or of yin-yang is the bare truth of the matter. Zhuangzi reminds his followers that the hard and fast distinctions that come as a easy default to all of us, are emanations of the insecurity that haunts us. The disciples frankly said, We are afraid etc., etc.. Am I not a mammal always under the spell of vulnerability, the consequence of my limitation in time? Soon enough my lines will be finished, I will have wrapped up my role on the grand stage of life. This runs as a carrier wave, the anxious subtext of language/thought.

A deeper truth however, is the relatedness of all things. We owe our lives to everything, and every ancestor that has come before us. We arrive here as a consequence of what has come before. And our contribution will have effect to every single being that is to come. There is no cause for partiality.

Relax! Relax! Relax!

Time enough for a tune. Which one would be an apt note for a Tuesday? This, by Laura Nyro, And When I Die performed by Blood, Sweat and Tears is a fitting refrain for this post.