Spirituality/Eastern: Honoring Those Who've Gone Before

I've been thinking a lot about death recently. More specifically, I've been thinking about those who have died. This was brought about by the death last week of my roommate's grandfather, a generous and kind man who had always treated me as if I were part of his own family.

After he was buried, I spent some time by his grave contemplating this last transition that we are all destined to make. I thought about how his spirit had gone to commune with a greater consciousness that I don't claim to understand. There were other thoughts as well, reflection’s that are common to us all when we say good-bye to someone whom we've loved, like the fact that this man would always have a life on earth and would still be with us so long as he remained alive within the hearts and minds of those who knew him.

Coincidences are sometimes miraculous occurrences, as I was to rediscover several days later while doing research on the Internet for a yet to be written column on Taoism. While surfing for pertinent information, I came across a beautiful article called Drink Water, Think of Source by Derek Lin, who's column Tao Living is published on the True Tao Home Page. The article was about honoring the spirits of the dead, and how we American's misunderstand a Chinese practice that we mistakenly call "ancestor worship."

In America, we tend to think that the dead have little to offer us. This has much to do with the pragmatism that has served us so well during the last couple of centuries. The dead are gone. They can't pave roads, build shopping malls, publish newspapers or otherwise contribute to commerce. “Life,” we say, “is for the living.”

We are also a chauvinistic lot, and we think that because we understand our own religious practices that we understand the spiritual customs of other cultures as well. When confronted with the fact that many Africans, Native Americans and Asians ritually honor their ancestors as part of their spiritual practice, we scoff and say that they are superstitious and fearful of the dead.

To use the words of Ira Gershwin, “It ain't necessarily so.”

“’Drink water, think of source’ is the phrase that the Chinese associate most often with the concept of ancestor worship,” Derek Lin explained in the column I found by accident. “The idea is to never take anything for granted. As you quench your thirst, don't forget the spring or well where the water comes from. Without that source you would not be drinking.”

I was struck by the poetic beauty of the image. At the same time, the words elicited a deeper understanding within me of a practice I had always dismissed. Although I am pretty well-versed in most of the world's spiritual philosophies, I had never given the practice of ancestor worship too much thought. Now I began to see that there was a certain pragmatism at work here. Remember, we Americans take pride in being pragmatic.

“In just the same way,” Lin went on, “one should never, ever take one's own existence for granted. Without your ancestors you would not be here. If they hadn't lived, loved, struggled, fought and survived, you would not exist. Just as you cherish your own life, it makes perfect sense that you should also cherish your forebears, for they are the ones who paved the way for you.”

There was nothing new here. Just a simple statement of fact, an acknowledgment that none of us would be here if not for the entire history of humankind. In this modern world, we like to think that we are not much effected by the past, but in reality we owe our lives to people who have been dead for so long that there is no record that they ever existed.

“This is the real essence of ancestor worship: a state of grace known as gratefulness,” Lin wrote. “It's a feeling that you are uniquely blessed, as the last link in an unimaginably long chain of human beings stretching all the way back to the genesis of humanity. You feel very much a part of this ancient tradition and the feeling gives you power and strength.”

Epiphanies usually do not happen when a person is standing atop a mountain trying to come face-to-face with God. They happen while doing the dishes or cleaning out the car. My recent epiphany happened while sitting in front of the computer, doing research for an upcoming column. They also do not come like thunderbolts from the sky, but as a barely audible voice inside that speaks a truth you already know.

I have vowed to go to my roommate's grandfather's grave as often as I can. I will sit and think about him, and about my relatives who have passed as well. I will think of the ancestors of all of my friends and of all my enemies. I will ask them, “Is this what you would have wanted?”

Then, I will listen.

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