I read somewhere a reminder that everything is simultaneously living and dying. And, of course I knew that, but we do our best to think otherwise, don’t we? We either work to ignore it or reverse it in almost every act we take. But the end is part of the beginning as much as green is born with shades of blue embedded in it.
And it made me wonder whether the best thing to do is simply to float along in full acknowledgment of this minute
Or should I work to give the living a little more advantage? Stretch out the living part a bit more? Use my energy to tip the scales?
It’s easy to go back and forth from camp to camp. So that’s what I do.
Sometimes I live in memory, stacking up joyful moments like gold bars, hoping that once the dying is done I will have this wall to lean back upon. And sometimes I realize that so much stacking means I’m not appreciating the living that is happening behind my back, and I set aside my blocks and turn around.
Spending time surrounded by the awareness that what is here now won’t be forever makes for a certain quality of awake-ness that is uncomfortable. It requires me to be mindful of emotional connection instead of physical action.
“I love you” versus “let me do this for you” or “let’s make new memories.”
It is also difficult to define the world in terms of Not-me. That is, to not process every potentiality and new situation with regard to what it requests and requires of me and how it makes me feel. I have to float back and see myself as one part of the whole and that both humbles me and reminds me that I am an important piece of the puzzle. That in any moment I can choose to turn my back, shore up the living, or accept my place and experience what is. Perhaps the beauty in that is that I do. I choose. Among the breath and the pulse and the movement and the slowing and the dying, I choose. And the more I can remember that it is all beautiful and glorious and a gift that I am here, part of it, for a while, the stronger I feel.
Beautiful. It all boils down to mindfulness, doesn't it?
Gorgeous writing, grief notwithstanding. Thanks.
Greetings from London.