“If one hears the Way in the morning, even dying in the evening is acceptable” [朝に道を聞けば夕に死すとも可なり]

The view from my bed accidentally taken in A&E whilst calling Susanna before being moved on to a ward

Last Sunday, I came home from church and settled down to do a little bit of admin before doing the final packing for my trip to Switzerland with Susanna to conduct a wedding of two church members.

And then, suddenly, without any warning, a pain such as I had never before experienced swept through every aspect of my being. I really thought I was going to pass out, but, fortunately, I had just enough control left to get myself to my bed and lie down. However, by now I was shaking uncontrollably with the searing pain that was emanating from my right kidney, spreading into my lower belly and down into my groin. Worried about unnecessarily calling 999, I called 111 and was taken through a series of questions. This call was then put through to a paramedic, and it was she who, after also talking to Susanna, called out an ambulance. The attending paramedics were both wonderful. My evident pain and extremely high blood pressure – apparently over 200 over the high 90s – resulted in my being pumped full of morphine and gas and air before being duly shuttled off to Addenbrooke’s Hospital in the ambulance.

By the time I was in A&E, a kidney stone was generally thought to be the cause; something that, after a scan, was confirmed. But, alas, the scan also revealed that the stone had perforated my ureter and so, by the time I was admitted to a ward, it was clear that I was, indeed, going to need an operation, and I was not going to make it to Switzerland...

Thanks to good nursing and opium – what the Ancient Sumerians called “hul gil”, the “joy plant” – I made it through the night and to an early morning briefing from one of the consultants in the urology department. I was told an operation was necessary, during which they would fit a stent and see if they could extract the stone – which, to my amazement, was only 3mm across. So much pain from so small a thing. Blimey.

And then, of course, I had to wait for a free slot in theatre. It was as I lay there for the next few hours that I began to reflect upon my translation of a short essay by Imaoka-sensei that was fresh in my mind because I had been revising it the previous week. That essay is called “Notes from a Sickbed”, which he wrote in 1973 whilst being treated in the Tokyo Women's Medical University Hospital for a serious prostate condition.

In those few hours of (painful) waiting, a couple of passages in that essay became truly helpful focal points upon which I could fruitfully meditate – firstly, as I waited on the ward, and secondly, as I was wheeled down many long, brightly lit corridors to the operating theatre.

Inevitably, and despite the fact that it was clear my condition was not life-threatening in any immediate sense, during those hours I was reflecting not simply upon human mortality per se, but my mortality. We will all die, one way or another, and this moment might – albeit unlikely – prove to be mine. Realising this, I found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with Imaoka-sensei that the key human task is to live every moment of life as well as possible. This simple thought helped me stay focused on the many small but amazingly wonderful things that were going on all around me: the kindness and skill of the doctors, nurses, cleaners, catering staff, and porters; all the waves and smiles of those in the neighbouring beds as we wished each other well; the gentle whirr of the machine that was patiently delivering life-sustaining fluids and antibiotics to me. So, although it may have been that something could go wrong during the operation – something utterly beyond my control – what was in my control was the practice of being mindful of, and fully grateful for, the many gifts I was receiving from people and things. This all served to remind me of a particular passage from the Analects of Confucius that Imaoka-sensei quotes, not only in this essay, but also in a number of his other writings:

“If one hears the Way in the morning, even dying in the evening is acceptable” [朝に道を聞けば夕に死すとも可なり].

I may be mistaken, of course, but for whatever reason – and I do not exaggerate here – I had the strongest sense that I had been hearing the Way that morning and that, were I to die in the evening, even this would be acceptable.

The Way for me really is free-religion – a creative, inquiring, free, and liberative Way I have come to know thanks to the examples and teachings of the human Jesus, Śākyamuni and Amida Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, Emerson, and Imaoka-sensei. This free-religion [自由宗教] is a Way that, to use Imaoka-sensei’s own words:

“...means living freely [自由に] and autonomously [自主的], unbound by the frameworks of established religion [既成宗教のワク]; to believe that one is a member of the Great Life [大生命] of the universe [宇宙], and to live in oneness [一体] with it” 「自由宗教とは既成宗教のワクにとらわれず自由に、自主的に生きることであり、自分が宇宙の大生命の一員であると信じ、一体となって生きることである。」.

And my last thought before losing consciousness in the operating theatre was to remind myself of this truth, that I really was a member of the Great Life of the universe, and that whatever happened, I was living in oneness with it.

Well, I’m now back at home recovering. I’m still in pain – considerable whilst peeing – and I’m feeling absolutely knackered because I can’t yet sleep too easily. But, but, but, the operation was successful, and the prognosis is very good, so I am assuredly not complaining. In fact, far from it. Instead, I am celebrating – with huge gratitude to all those in the NHS who provided me with such good care whilst on the way to, and in, the hospital, and to my dearest Susanna at home – the fact that I continue to be a conscious member of the Great Life of the universe.