It's a consoling notion that death is a very tiny hole, and you

When Michael Leunig, the gentle philosopher and poet of the soul, wrote, “It’s a consoling notion that death is a very tiny hole, and you need to make yourself very small to get through it… One obviously needs to lighten off, and a rucksack full of bricks or a mantelpiece full of trophies will certainly have to be abandoned – the sooner the better, I say,” he offered a reflection that is both tender and profound. He spoke not of death as doom, but as passage — not of loss, but of liberation. His words are a meditation on humility, simplicity, and the shedding of all burdens that bind the spirit to the heavy clay of earth. In his image of a tiny hole, Leunig gives voice to the oldest wisdom of humankind: that to pass into eternity, one must first let go.

In his time, Leunig often turned to humor and softness to express truths that others feared to touch. Yet beneath his whimsy lies a core of sacred seriousness. His tiny hole is no physical portal but the narrow way of the spirit — the same path spoken of by sages and prophets across the ages. “It is easier,” said Christ, “for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” The meaning is the same: one cannot carry bricks and trophies — the heavy symbols of pride, possession, and worldly achievement — through the gate of peace. The soul must be light as wind, empty of vanity, full only of love.

The “rucksack full of bricks” is the perfect image of the modern life: laden with regret, with fear, with possessions we mistake for identity. Each brick is a burden — an unhealed wound, a rivalry, a false ambition, a memory of anger. And upon our mantelpieces, we keep the trophies of ego: the awards, the titles, the accomplishments meant to prove our worth. But when death calls, none of these can pass with us. The ancient Egyptians buried their kings with treasure, but time has stripped even their pyramids bare. In the end, all must be abandoned. The wise do not wait for death to take these things; they “lighten off” early, walking lightly, free from the weight of wanting.

Consider the story of Leo Tolstoy, who, in the twilight of his years, turned from wealth and fame to seek simplicity and truth. Though honored across the world, he felt his trophies grow heavy upon his heart. He cast them aside — title, estate, luxury — and sought to live as a humble man, close to the soil, close to God. He understood, as Leunig teaches, that the journey through the tiny hole requires shedding all that is false, all that is not love. In his final days, Tolstoy wandered from his great house into the cold night, dying in a simple railway station — unburdened, peaceful, and free.

Leunig’s words also remind us that death, far from being an enemy, can be a teacher of life. To think often of death is not to despair, but to remember what truly matters. When we imagine that tiny hole, when we feel how small we must become to pass through it, our priorities shift. We see that humility is not weakness, but wisdom; that joy is found not in possession, but in presence. We learn to live each day with less — fewer burdens, fewer pretenses — until the spirit grows as light as a feather on the breath of eternity.

To lighten off is to live as one who has already glimpsed the infinite. It is to forgive quickly, to love deeply, to let go often. It is to carry no resentment, no greed, no need for applause. When the hands are empty, they can finally receive grace. When the heart is unarmored, it can finally be filled. The tiny hole is not a punishment but an invitation — to live simply, die peacefully, and pass through into something larger than self.

So take this lesson, traveler of time: begin to unload the rucksack now. Drop each brick of bitterness, each stone of pride, each weight of fear. Dust your mantel clean of trophies that no longer bring light to the soul. Walk barefoot through life, open-hearted and unburdened. For the hole at the end of the road is indeed very small, and only those who have become small through love, humility, and kindness shall slip through it with ease — smiling, weightless, and free.