Real reincarnationists are characterized —among other things— by viewing death in a different way. The truth is I don’t know if my view of death changed after I recalled past lives. Even since childhood I was different to other people and I always felt quite indifferent towards this subject. I couldn’t understand why “so much fuss” when a relative died (though maybe this was due to the fact I only lived the death of my maternal grandparents, not someone closer to me). I don’t discard it is some kind of defensive mechanism, because I know that in many other occasions the loss of someone dear affected me deeply, to the point of wanting to die as well. Or perhaps, after all, experience did teach me something. But that was in other lives... The thing is that in my current life I have always been quite cold, but not in the sense of not feeling emotions or not caring about the death of a living being, but in the sense of knowing, somehow, that death is not something irreparable, that is only a transition, and even though it is painful because it always entails a separation, it is not the end of anything. To me, LIFE (of ALL living beings, not only those we are interested in) has always been sacred. As much as death. Perhaps the issue is that there are many people who claim life is sacred to them, but in reality they don’t see beyond their selfishness. Usually they don’t see that life may have become a nightmare for others, and it is their right to put an end to it, in an assisted or unassisted way.
Many reincarnationists look back in time and sometimes we say: “Any time in the past was better”. This is not always true, of course. Technological and scientific advances provide that there is less suffering in our lives, and we can live longer in a physical body, especially if we were lucky enough to be born in a developed country. However, the dehumanization that this entails is really worrying. A part of being human consists of living with death, as death is part of life, and in this our ancestors were quite ahead of us.
His eyes opened. “You remember where the heart is?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
As still as stone she stood. “I... I was only...”
“Don’t lie,” he growled. “I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it.” When Arya did not move, he said. “I killed your butcher’s boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after.” He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. “And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out leaving her for that dwarf.” A spasm of pain twisted his face. “Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? Do it! The gift of mercy... avenge your little Michael...”
“Mycah.” Arya stepped away from him. “You don’t deserve the gift of mercy.”
And then it turns out there are people who think they would never do that for a loved one, when, if they knew what dignity or honor is, if they had truly seen what death means for someone who neither can nor wants to fight anymore, they wouldn’t deny it to the worst of their enemies. Yes, maybe some will say that if there were quality palliative cares or if you can administer sedation so that the dying are not aware of their last moments, this is preferable to injecting a euthanasia agent. They think this is the same as murder, and it seems that is an unforgivable sin, as life is sacred... I am not going to talk about the double standards of morality that reigns in our society, nor how the perception of what is “sacred” changes when you widen the term “life” to all living beings, not only humans. The truth is that sparing a dying one two or three days of suffering should be above our own fear of suffering, our fear of the possible consequences of “killing”, or our own cowardice at the time to face death. And I, if I can choose, would always prefer a scheduled and conscious death rather than spending an undetermined number of days motionless and already dead at the practical level, agonizingly waiting for my heart to stop on its own.
Suicide or euthanasia... yes, they always remind me of Katrina, and how someone who had not read my story properly preferred to think it had been some kind of sacrifice like the one Jesus made when he surrendered to the Romans, without keeping into account my desire to die. Then he realized his mistake, and he went from considering me almost a heroine, to pity me (??). What always surprised me was how I did it, without even asking for it, only provoking someone to do what he would most likely do: to pull the trigger when faced with a threat. I had no intention to do him any harm, I only wanted him to shoot. And it is curious to think that maybe that soldier felt guilty when she saw I was just a poor woman, despaired or half-mad, when in reality it was an act of mercy to me, someone who only wished to end so much suffering, a deep pain she couldn’t bear anymore. If I were to meet him one day, I would thank him for what he did. Once again, the real problem is to consider that absolute good and evil exist, when that is just an illusion.