The Empty Guru

"I'm afraid of death" - said the seeker. The teacher's face showed no surprise. Over the years he'd been watching over the mountaintop monastery not many had made the way up the thirteen hundred steps to meet him, the Hidden Guru. But those who came seeking his teachings were all struggling with the same question that has been haunting humans throughout their history. 



"You're afraid of the... how they call it, the great unknown?" The Guru's voice was calm but sounded distant, as if projected through his mouth from a great depth within his body, echoing within. "But there is nothing unknown about death, you see. There is no great mystery beyond the veil, as there is no veil at all. What you see is what you get." 

The seeker looked confused. "But... but beyond our life here and now I can see nothing". "Ah, but that's exactly what you're getting."

A myriad of emotions passed through the man's face to finally settle between dismay and anger.

"You don't like my answer." This was a statement, not a question. "You came here believing you're afraid of death, but what you're truly scared of is not dying. You're afraid that there's nothing beyond that. You want to cling to your hope of continued existence and you came here looking for a confirmation. Yes, existence is nothing if not indulgent. Existence wants, existence needs, existence seeks and explores and multiplies and wiggles about. All in a futile attempt to fill all space, to make everything into something, and to bring meaning where meaning has no business to be. What's so special about existence that it wants to preserve itself so badly? Huh? Tell me, what is so special about you? What makes you think that the cosmos would benefit from preserving you?"

"I... I'm the only me there is" said the seeker in a week, trembling voice.

"I have been here for three hundred and seventy six winters, and when I look at you I see nothing that would make you different then the dozens of those, who came before you and said the same thing you've said, word for word."

The seeker jumped to his feet with an expression of horror painted on his face. This hermit, this old teacher was famed to be ancient, but no one lives for nearly four centuries.

"You... you're a spirit. You're not alive!" he exclaimed with fear. And then repeated. "You're not alive." - this time his voice had a triumphant undertone. "You say there's nothing after you die, yet here you are - not alive, yet speaking to me."

"And you think this is significant?"

"Yes. There is something beyond. If you died and you still remain, then death isn't the end!"

"I suppose you're right. It isn't. But was it really death that you're afraid of? No, boy. You were afraid of the end of existence. I might be dead and still tangled in the threads of being, but from here I can see both sides. I can see life squirming in its turmoil, pain, torment, and strife, building up like a storm, flowing like the tide. Uneasy, restless, uncomfortable... and then, I see it becoming nothing, or should I say - returning to nothing."

"That's terrible."

"No. Things can be terrible. Nothing is just nothing."

They sat together for some time. Maybe an hour. Maybe a century. It wouldn’t make much difference.

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