Silence, a stilling of not only the voices outside but the inner voices, the roof brain chatter. Now, without the babble or words – inner and outer – I watch my mind, notice when a thought arises. I turn my attention inward, asking, "Who is thinking this thought?" As the mind turns to look, the thinker seems to disappear. But a focus comes from asking, a clearing a deepening. No "me," but a presence. Awareness.
"Perfect love casts out fear." It is not be thinking ourselve sright that we cease to fear. It is simply by loving, and abandoning ourselves to the One whom we love without returning to self. That is what makes death sweet and precious. When we are dead to ourselves, the death of the body is only the consummation of the work of grace.