Life and death are illusions. We are in a constant state of

The words of Alejandro González Iñárritu, “Life and death are illusions. We are in a constant state of transformation,” resound like an ancient truth rediscovered in modern form. In them, the celebrated filmmaker—known for his works that delve deep into the soul of existence—reveals a wisdom older than time: that the boundaries between life and death, beginning and ending, are not walls but thresholds. They are illusions of perception, woven by the mind’s need for certainty in a world that is forever changing. What we call death, he reminds us, is not an annihilation, but a continuation—another movement in the eternal rhythm of transformation that governs all creation.

Iñárritu, born in Mexico City, has long been a seeker of the unseen. His films—The Revenant, Birdman, Babel, and others—carry within them the pulse of the metaphysical. Through art, he speaks of rebirth and suffering, of the soul’s journey through pain toward transcendence. His quote arises from this vision, shaped by both his cultural roots and his spiritual reflection. In the traditions of his land, where the Day of the Dead is celebrated as a festival of life, death is not feared but embraced as part of the sacred circle. To say that life and death are illusions is not to deny their reality, but to see beyond them—to understand that both are faces of the same eternal force.

To the ancients, this idea was not strange but sacred. The Egyptians believed that death was but the gate to the next life, the continuation of the soul’s voyage. The Hindus and Buddhists taught that existence is a wheel, a cycle of birth and dissolution called samsara, where the soul moves through countless forms, ever transforming, ever learning. Even in nature, we see this truth made visible: the tree that falls decays into the soil, giving birth to new roots and blossoms; the star that collapses scatters dust across the cosmos, from which new worlds are born. Transformation, therefore, is not the exception—it is the law of existence itself.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, whose life embodied this ceaseless transformation. Imprisoned for twenty-seven years, he emerged from the darkness not embittered, but renewed—his spirit transformed by suffering. The man who entered prison was a revolutionary; the man who left became a healer of nations. In his journey, we see how even the darkest confinement, which to many would seem like death, can become a crucible of rebirth. His life teaches us that transformation is the hidden power behind all apparent endings. The flesh may weaken, circumstances may change, but the essence—the soul’s purpose—endures, adapting, evolving, transcending.

When Iñárritu calls life and death “illusions,” he is not denying the pain of loss, but illuminating its purpose. He asks us to see beyond appearances—to perceive the thread that connects every joy and sorrow, every birth and farewell. For if all things transform, then nothing is truly lost. The person who dies becomes memory; the body that fades becomes part of the earth; the grief that wounds us becomes wisdom. In this understanding lies peace, for it dissolves the fear of finality and replaces it with reverence for change. Life and death, then, are not enemies—they are collaborators in the great design of being.

This truth can bring comfort to those who mourn and strength to those who struggle. When the world seems to collapse, when identity, purpose, or hope crumble like dust, remember: you are not ending—you are transforming. The caterpillar cannot imagine the wings it will one day bear; yet within it, the butterfly is already written. So too within every loss hides the seed of renewal. The wise do not cling to what was; they honor it, then release it, trusting that life’s current carries them toward new shores.

The lesson, then, is clear and eternal: embrace transformation, for it is the essence of existence. Do not fear change, for it is the sculptor of your soul. When life demands that you shed old identities, let them fall like autumn leaves, knowing that spring will come again. When faced with death—your own or another’s—look deeper, and see not the extinguishing of light, but its migration into another form. For as Iñárritu teaches, we are not beings who live and die—we are beings who change, forever and always.

And so, O listener, carry this wisdom with you: that to live fully is to die to each moment and be reborn into the next. Every breath is a small death; every dawn, a resurrection. When you understand this, fear loses its power, and life, in all its fleetingness, becomes infinite. For indeed, life and death are illusions, and you, child of eternity, are the living embodiment of transformation itself.