Open Enlightenment

The Last of Your Days

Jennifer Agnew profiles spiritual guru David Todd, author of The Last of Your Days and originator of its surprise-hit television franchise.

Celebrities live at a faster pace than normal people. Dave Todd certainly gives that impression, but perhaps with more reason than anyone I’ve interviewed.

He arrives ten minutes late and is finishing a call as I greet him, but turns off the phone before he zips it into his pocket. He isn’t overdressed. In fact, he seems to be striving hard to create the opposite impression: casual jeans, sweatshirt, and a very lived-in bomber jacket. His tousled hair and five o’clock shadow (it’s only 11:10 am) scream at me someone who refuses to be bothered by what doesn’t matter. Then he takes my hand in a firm, slow shake, and a pair of humorous brown eyes meet mine with a friendly and unwavering smile.

Immediately – of course – my cynical side is on alert to the possibility that this is only calculated charm, but I’m surprised to catch myself actually granting him the benefit of the doubt. A starstruck mental voice reminds me this is David Todd, the man famous for having only a year left to live, and yet here he is, giving up some of that precious time to speak with me.

I scan my notes and collect myself as we take our seats. But something tells me this could well be one of those interviews when the notes go straight out the window.

If someone told you ten months ago where you’d be today, would you have believed them?

‘No way,’ he laughs. (I’m surprised by how unrestrained his laughter sounds, almost like a small boy.) ‘There’s such incredible hunger from people seeking for meaning that responses to ideas these days can be more extreme than anyone would predict.

‘Ten months ago I was just a wannabe blogger, like a million others. Luckily the blog caught on, so a book seemed a natural progression. But the popularity of the DVDs and then the sale of the TV format admittedly took me by surprise. Until now our culture has been completely phobic of the idea of dying – of ourselves dying, that is – so I don’t think anyone would’ve guessed you could succeed at marketing death.’

And yet that’s precisely what you’ve done. Were you always obsessed with the idea of dying?

‘Not at all. I was obsessed like everyone else with not thinking about it, but then I reached a spiritual crossroads. At the time I had a well-paid job, a great relationship and everything, yet I felt truth was missing, you know? I looked around and thought, “What is this? What’s it all for?”‘

A look transforms David’s face at this point. Such a penetrating, contemplative look that it reminds me of the expression on religious statues or in paintings of saints. I have to force myself to remember that this man has made more money in the past few months than I’m likely ever to earn, yet there’s still a strong sense of what I can only call inner peace radiating from him.

Soon I’m going to have to ask him about the criticisms that have been thrown in his direction, but it’s impossible to reconcile them at the moment with the intensely spiritual man who is sitting before me.

‘That’s where the idea came from,’ he continues. (I wonder if the sparkle in his eye means that somehow he senses what I’ve been thinking, and this thought disturbs me.) ‘But then I realised what a powerful exercise it would be to imagine if I were dying – actually dying – and had only a year left. Wouldn’t thinking like that reveal what was truly essential in my life and what wasn’t?’

What did you discover?

(He gives that boyish laugh again.) ‘I saw my life wasn’t anything like it ought to have been if I was actually dying. In fact, it was a total mess.’

That must have been tough…

‘”Tough” doesn’t come close. When I saw how little really mattered and how much was only clutter I began to realise I deeply needed to change. “If I have only a year,” I asked myself, “is this the woman I want to be with; is this the job I want to spend time doing; are these the friends who will give me the support I’m going to need?”‘

‘The answer in every case was, “No.”‘

He seems to catch an unintentional flicker in my expression. ‘I realise that sounds harsh,’ he says.

You’ve attracted criticism for the way you’ve treated people in your life…

He nods. ‘If you do the exercise properly you’ve got to take it all the way. When you practise spirituality you open doors that can’t be closed. Once they’ve been opened then the only way out is through.’

So living as if you were going to die completely changed your life?

‘Yes, forever. I broke up with my partner – which was very sad at the time. I reigned my job and haven’t spoken since to many of my so-called “friends”. For a time I was all alone with no income and no home, yet I still knew my life wasn’t in the shape I needed it to be in, and until it was I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to it with integrity.’

Some of your critics have said that because you aren’t really dying the exercise is pointless and imaginary. How do you respond to that?

He nods slowly and his face fills with pity. ‘I understand where they’re coming from – or trying to – but they’re not grasping it seriously enough. This is not about occasionally thinking to yourself, “What would I do if I wasn’t going to be here next year?” You have to take it beyond thinking into action for it to become real. Okay, true, I’m not actually terminally ill, but if I choose my actions as if I were then will someone please show me the difference? There isn’t any. But there is a difference between people who think this is about imagination and those who grasp what it’s really about: action.

‘I explain this to my students over and over. Whenever they say, “But it’s not actually real” I tell them, “That’s because you’re not making it real!”‘

What tips would you give people who are trying to make it real?

‘Whatever’s not right, make it right to the maximum extent within your means. For example, if you’re not living in the kind of home you would expect to be in at the end of your life, then move to a better one. If you can’t, there’s always something you can do – from building an extension, to renovation, right down to something as basic as changing the furniture.’

Your television show and DVDs cover a wide range of ideas, such as interior design, health and fitness, and personal finance, don’t they?

‘Yes. The DVDs provide basic ideas, but of course it’s up to the student to recognise what they should change and how. It would be wrong to tell people how to go about that.’

What if they decide nothing needs changing?

He gives a wide shrug and smiles. ‘Fine. Nobody says they’ve got to. But if you’re not making the most of what you have now then you’re sleepwalking towards death. It’s hard to look death in the eye, but unless we wake up and do it we’re not making our lives the best they can be.’

The most difficult part of the interview rears its head and I’m burning to see how he deals with it. So far he hasn’t wavered; I’m still enjoying the ease he placed me in at the beginning. I check our body language: we’re both sitting in an open posture with full and friendly eye contact, and I still seem to have his full attention. Part of me hopes neither of us screws up this next bit, because it would be sad to ruin the impression so far. Nevertheless, I clear my throat and go for it…

You can’t have avoided the media debate over certain tragic individuals who, unlike those who don’t take your ideas seriously enough, have perhaps taken them too far?

‘You mean the McKenny case?’

I was thinking of Michael McKenny, among others, yes…

‘It’s always tragic when someone with a mental illness takes their own life.’

His expression turns serious and I’m reassured by his instant change of mood. It suggests someone so in control that he can flick his ego on or off as easily as a light-switch. Yet the way he sneaked ‘mental illness’ into his answer makes me wonder for the first time if he’ll try to side-step the question.

Some have suggested that Michael McKenny and others like him wouldn’t have killed themselves if it weren’t for your insistence on ‘making it real’. Isn’t that a dangerous suggestion for vulnerable people?

He looks away for a second, and I wonder if I’ve finally uncovered a flaw.

‘There’s a story about the Buddha from way back,’ he says, ‘when it was common for monks to meditate in the places in India where dead bodies were left out to rot.’

His eyes glint mischievously. It’s as if he can’t resist adding: ‘I suppose the Buddha was the David Todd of his day… But anyway, this story goes that the Buddha took some novice monks to meditate in a charnel ground whilst he popped off on other business. When he got back he was horrified to find that the monks had grown so depressed meditating on death that they’d all slit their wrists.’

You’re claiming this story is relevant to the McKenny case?

‘Well, it might be, because I think it shows us two things: firstly that any spiritual practice – even a genuine one taught by a master – can be tragically misunderstood by students. Secondly, it’s a graphic depiction of what our attitude to death ought to be.’

Which is?

‘We shouldn’t surrender to death but must meet it with life. To meet dying with acceptance is no better than sleepwalking. Instead, use death to improve your life, over and over, until it’s the most successful it can be.’

I’m smiling again – and David’s smiling too, because he can see he’s won me over. I realise how his sincerity, above all else, has earned him his success.

You’ve also had negative comments from groups representing the terminally ill, and yet the contestants on your TV show always say the practice changed them for the better.

‘Yes. Because what I teach is using death for personal growth. In a deep sense, people with terminal illness are no different from contestants on my show; there’s always something anyone can do to make their lives better. Thinking about dying of course can make you depressed. If that happens, step away from the depression and change your outlook and circumstances. The person responsible for your unhappiness is you. Death is a gift from the universe; the most wonderful challenge to make your life perfect.’

David says goodbye and leaves me with another peal of boyish laughter echoing in my ears, and it’s odd but for the rest of the day I’m walking on air. Everything is fine. The thought that one day me and all I know will cease to be only makes everything even more great.

It seems that David’s system really works. Whether I’d describe him as a ‘saint’ or ‘enlightened’ is something I’d have to think about long and hard, but no doubt he has something; some kind of spiritual gift that these days is rare, but – thanks to his honesty and acumen – is now very much in demand.

To those critics who carp and cavil I’d suggest they don’t understand David until they’ve met him face to face, because his presence is equally as persuasive as his reputation. Who’d have dreamt that a culture as phobic of death as ours would grant him the exposure he’s won from it? But then again – and this is the hallmark of David’s genius – who would suppose that death itself could have such a sincere and friendly face?

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