The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

I’ve been carrying this book with me these past days, and it feels like a quiet mirror. Each page asks me to look closer… at life, at death, at the spaces in between.

I notice how much I cling, how much I resist, how afraid i’m of endings. And yet, there’s a strange relief in reading that letting go is not loss, but a form of living fully.

Reading it feels like being guided inward, to the quiet place where acceptance begins. It’s teaching me that to live fully is to let go gently… of control, of fear, of the illusion that anything lasts forever.

It makes me wonder… what if every breath is both a beginning and a farewell? What if awareness itself is the only thing that truly lasts?

This book has been an intimate conversation with myself. It asks questions i didn’t know I needed to hear and it doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable truths. I find myself reflecting on the fleeting nature of joy, the inevitability of pain and the delicate beauty of simply being present.

Closing it last tonight, i felt a little lighter, a little braver, a little more open to the mystery of life (and death) and to the quiet spaces that exist between them.