Love Is Stronger Than Death


At around 3am, the night before we buried my father, I heard his voice, loud and strong and as clear as ever. Maybe it was my own deepest voice, my intuition, my very own heart. My presence, his presence, one and the same. Who knows.

He said, “Don’t worry about me, son. I’m okay. I didn’t need that damn body anymore! It was old and exhausting and too small for me. I am relieved to be free of it.”

“Don’t look for me, my boy. I haven’t gone anywhere. I have lost the body but I was never that. I have only come closer to you. I am what you are. I always was.”

“May I ask you a favour, son?”

“Sure, Dad. Go ahead,” I replied.

He said, “I no longer have eyes. If I need to see, may I look through yours?”

“Of course, Dad. We can look at the things of this world together, whenever you feel like it.”

“And your ears, son? May I use them, sometimes? I no longer have my ears.”

“Of course, Dad. We can hear the sound and music of our days together. I will offer you my ears, whenever you need to hear.”

“And your mouth? To taste, to speak words? Your nose, to smell, to breathe? Your arms and legs? Your body? Your heart?”

“Yes Dad. You can feel everything through me. Sense everything. Be alive. I will let you in, whenever you need to experience this materiality.”

And then I thought - no, no, even that isn’t true. “He” cannot experience the world through “me”. That is a false division made by this human mind. “He” and “me” are not divided, not two. We never were. It is Presence that lives, sees, hears, smells, thinks, feels. Dad is not talking “to” me, or living “through” me or anything crazy like that - love is prior to language and all of these illusory, mind-made divisions.

I was Dad. I always had been.

Anyway, the next day, “we” sat together, watching the sun rise before his funeral. It felt so ordinary.

We were alive. I was he and he was I, beholding a sunrise for the very first time. We existed in pure intimacy. There was no separate body to get in the way. No mental division. No death anywhere to be found.

We enjoyed the funeral, if truth be told. We laughed and wept together, missed each other and found each other closer than ever, said goodbye to a body and said hello to an Infinite Now and it made no sense but it all made perfect sense. 

We live together now in perfect harmony. Dad sees what I see, hears what I hear, feels what I feel, thinks what I think, misses and finds himself through me. He writes these words to you now. To remind you of what you have always known:

Death is nothing, only a mysterious collapse of time, distance, memory.

Or, to put it simply, 

Love cannot die.

Goodbye, Dad. 

And hello. 

~ Jeff Foster


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