I guess the point of all this is that I don't need a holiday to remind me that we are all going to die. I suppose it's good that there is a time each year when people might spend a moment thinking about their own mortality, but I am inclined to believe that the vast majority of healthy people avoid thinking about death as much as possible.
I, on the other hand, have become a bit obsessed over the last decade or so. Often, when I am in bed waiting for sleep to overtake me, I close my eyes and try to imagine the stillness of death. I imagine fighting off death for as long as possible, then taking what will be my last breath. I think of the dark, satin-covered closeness of a coffin, or sometimes I try to envision the sudden combustion of the crematorium chamber.
(I'm aware that I have issues.)
I fear it, of course, but many Buddhist masters over the centuries have encouraged their students to consider death - their own, and that of others - intimately. Some Buddhist paths still have a tradition of sending monks to the burial grounds to contemplate decomposing corpses. According to some versions of the story, when the Buddha needed new clothes following his enlightenment, he gathered strips of cloth from the decomposed bodies of the poor and washed them, then sewed them into a robe. His very clothing was a reminder of the fleeting nature of life, and how we all must prepare for that abrupt stop at the end.
So, when the little ghouls have finally stopped ringing your doorbell (or when the bartender rings his bell for last call) spend a little time thinking about the reason for all of this costumed madness. Think about the time when you can no longer stop death's arrival, and imagine how you'll face that moment. You may be surprised at yourself.
