I grew up hearing my parents refer to the deceased as “passed away.” With a soft accent of sadness, my mother would say, “Aunt Lois passed away.” That fragment of vagueness would be the last word as to Lois’ fate. What do such phrases reveal about one’s beliefs regarding the afterlife?
My devout Christian relatives confidently declare a person “passed on.” Aunt Lois definitely did not slip away like someone skipping town over a bad debt. She passed on to a destination, and a known rendevous with destiny. Of course, a good Christian cannot pass judgement on where the fortunate (or unfortunate) one passed on to, but it is definitely one of two places.
In comparison, passed away is an indefinite fate. Aunt Lois has gone away… somewhere, we think. We don’t know, but she’s not here anymore.
Older, I examined life through the lens of the truth seeker. I rebelled against these perceived euphemisms and declared the cold truth: she was dead. That is all I knew for sure. No use in waxing sentimental about it; all I knew and loved of her was gone. That honest appraisal was a good starting point and catalyst for discovering the truth of my fate.
Now, however, I feel the touch of wisdom in the words “passed away.” In the end, we do not move on to something, nor does all fall to oblivion. Our old self passes away; is left behind. We move away from all that we knew and were, and become naked, unburdened, and unwoven.
If we are fortunate, that is. I suspect there are still three possibilities: to die (oblivion), to pass on (another existance/bardo), or to pass away. Our success in ferreting out the truth of our essence determines the route we discover.