Talk with Death

Transform your relationship with Death
from terror to partnership

An intensive methodology for people facing serious illness who are exhausted by inspirational advice and ready for brutal clarity.

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Three-week intensive pods of four people. Establish Death as an advisor. Stop performing. Start living truthfully.

I was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour in 2021 after the kind of headache that felt like being burnt from the inside of my skull. I could almost smell the pain it was so intense.

"Whew" I thought when they pulled round the MRI scan on a trolley at hospital. I was looking at a cyst the size of a tangerine and a tumour the size of a golf ball. "Now they know what it is. Now they can fix it."

They couldn't fix it. Not really. They offered me standard of care: surgery, radiation, chemo. But "fix" implies return to normal, and there was no normal to return to. Not now.

Everyone told me to stay positive. Fight. Never give up. Be grateful for every day. Find the silver lining. Keep yer chin up lad!

I tried to. For months, I tried. I played the good cancer patient: my kids, my friends, my family. I pretended to be grateful. I told everyone I was "hanging in there" when really I was terrified and angry and exhausted by having to perform politeness, gratitude, humour for everyone.

So I started searching for something that might actually help with the feeling of dread.

I went through stacks of books. Psychology. Philosophy. Self-help that made me want to throw up. Cancer books full of grim stories. I was looking for something, anything, that could give me emotional release without the inspirational nonsense.

Eventually I found something. In a practice I'd learned years before but never applied to the biggest, most terrifying part of me: Death.

In early December 2021, I started writing letters. Angry letters. To all the people who expected me to be something I wasn't. To doctors who'd delivered news with the wrong expression. To the medical system itself. Pages and pages of everything I'd been holding in.

I didn't send those letters. But writing them discharged something critical: the rage, the fury, the sheer upset with being given this fucking diagnosis.

And then one to Death.

On the morning of 1 January 2022, after weeks of emotional discharge through writing, I thought "OK. Let's have a conversation with this Death person. Let's see what he has to say."

I set up my iPhone's camera and started self-facilitating the process, not knowing if anything would happen.

Death was silent at first. Reluctant to speak.

When he finally spoke, his first words were: "Calm down or you won't be able to understand me. Take a deep breath."

"My first suggestion is you stop performing for everyone." The bastard had nailed me.

And then: "You don't need all this stuff, where you're going. Pack lightly."

"Pack lightly..."

Pack lightly. "Fuck" I thought.

Suddenly I had access to the part of me that had been watching my whole life. He knew every value I'd compromised. Every convenient lie I'd told myself. What mattered versus what was just performance. He knew the difference.

That conversation shifted everything that followed.

Benjamin Dives

My name is Benjamin Dives.

Studying a Masters in clinical Psycho-Neuro-Immunology (cPNI)
A delighted father of 5 (plus 3 stepchildren).
British, currently based in Sheffield.
Highly allergic to the phrase "Everything happens for a reason."

The Work

Personifying Death as an advisor. Not metaphorically. Actually.

This is an ongoing conversational practice. You establish Death as a felt presence. Not a concept, not a meditation object, but an entity you can speak with. You discharge the emotions first (usually through writing). Then you open the conversation. You listen. Sometimes you argue. Mostly you let Death clarify where you're performing old patterns versus what you actually value now.

When this practice works, it's given me clarity about what actually matters versus what I've been performing for others. Permission to drop obligations that were never mine. A way to have difficult conversations I'd been avoiding for years. Daily guidance from an advisor who can't lie to me because he's me. A way to live truthfully with whatever time I have.

This is spiritual work—but not religious, not New Age, not mystical. Spiritual in a specific sense: the capacity to tolerate anxiety without discharging it, sit with ambiguity without resolving it, and hold ambivalence without collapsing into one side. Jungian analyst James Hollis calls these the "Three A's"—and argues that maturity is measured by our capacity to hold them, not escape them. That's what makes the transformation last. Emotion fades. Logic fails. Urgency passes. The spiritual relationship with Death persists.

This isn't therapy, though it can complement therapy. It's not meditation, though it uses similar techniques. It's not positive psychology. It's often the opposite. It's a practice for people who are done performing and ready to face what they've been avoiding.

Who this is for

I've taught this to people in their twenties and people in their seventies. Terminal diagnoses and chronic conditions. People who are terrified and people who are just tired of pretending.

What they had in common: they'd stopped performing. They were exhausted by inspirational advice. They wanted something that actually worked, even if it was uncomfortable.

This might be for you if you're exhausted by "stay positive" advice that doesn't help. If you're performing gratitude you don't feel. If you're tired of inspirational content that insults your intelligence. If you're carrying relationships and obligations that drain you. If you're living according to others' expectations instead of your own values. If you suspect you're lying to yourself but can't seem to stop.

Or if you want brutal honesty about what actually matters. Clarity on values versus performance. Difficult conversations without pretending. To live truthfully with whatever time you have. A partnership with Death instead of terror. Work that's uncomfortable but real.

What this actually looks like...

Here's a video I shot on my iPhone from 1 January 2022 - the first time I used this technique. I'm working with Death as an advisor to speak with my parts. This is what it looks like:

The Three-Week Intensive

Pods of four people. Disassemble, support, rebuild.

Week One: Disassemble

Take apart the performed identity. Strong emotions come up. Your pod witnesses it.

Week Two: Support

Work with your pod. Visit cemeteries. Plan your Death Party. Form bonds that last.

Week Three: Rebuild

Reconstruct based on values Death has shown you actually matter.

Investment: £2,000 – £5,000 depending on format and circumstances.

See full programme details →

Become a Beta Reader

I'm writing Talk with Death: A Practical Guide to Mortality Partnership — a book that teaches this methodology to anyone who wants to transform their relationship with Death.

As a beta reader, you get full access to the entire book as I write it. Read each chapter, share your feedback, and help shape the final version. When it's published, you'll receive a free copy (worth £25) as thanks for your contribution.

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Talk with Death A Practical Guide to Mortality Partnership Benjamin Dives

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