My centering is going pretty well. I've almost fallen asleep the last two days, but I have managed to stay awake. Teachers of Centering Prayer often say that it's ok to let yourself go and fall asleep on occasion. But honestly, I would feel like I somehow cheated if I took a snooze.
Well as you can tell, this blog is shaping out to be my meanderings on Centering Prayer AND topics that keep coming up in my mind while centering and just when I'm living the dream. So here goes.
I am fascinated with death. Always have been. I had a lovely coffee today with a chaplain and we discussed the desire to be of service to people who are dying and that has stayed with me all afternoon. I have several thoughts floating around about this subject, so I know there will be more to come; thus the 'part one.'
I remember the first time in my adult life that it 'hit' me that I was going to die. I think I was around 35. Now don't get me wrong, I have known that my eventual demise is coming, but it wasn't a secured knowing in my bones until around 35. I believe the cliche that most young people think they'll live forever. It's simply because they have not experienced the shift in energy or the emotional devastation that is left in the wake of the death of a loved one. It just isn't part of their story...yet.
But eventually it dawns on us that we will, indeed, stop being. The fact that in one hundred short years, nearly NONE of us will be here is certainly an eye opener. One hundred years may seem like a long time, but when you get to a certain age, 100 years isn't as long as we once thought.
This knowing can also occur to us by losing someone close; too close. My family has known more than it's fair share of unexpected deaths. In the last 8 years, I have lost 4 family members; the last being my dad in July. He mysteriously drowned on a routine fishing outing. He was in good health. He was only 64. He knew how to swim. We will never know why or how he passed. A horrible blow to my family; especially my mom. But it caused a shift in my being that has remained thus far. I think it will be a permanent shift as I was teetering on this anyway.
Like all true spiritual experiences, it is hard to put into words, but I will make an attempt. My father's death shifted my knowing and understanding of death into a very real 'space' in my being. It has removed my sense of fear surrounding it. We will die. All of us. Some will go quickly. Some unexpectedly. Some after a long hard battle. Some in our sleep. But we will all go.
Of course, you say. But this is more than just a thought for me now. It is a knowing. A peaceful knowing actually. It has opened my eyes to living more of my life in the present moment and to be mindful of every single day that I have been gifted. I cannot go for long without sensing the ultimate demise of everything that I see in my world. It does me no good to try and not think about it because the thought eventually seeps back in without my beckoning. I can't look at my wife deeply in the eyes without sensing her death and my loss. I can't walk behind Eli when he rides his trike without sensing that he will someday, hopefully, be an old man and will die. I can't look at my business and know that someday it will all be gone; dust.
Some may think that morbid, but it is just the opposite. It forces me to 'see' and 'be' with my wife and son. It forces me to relish these moments and to live from a more contented place. It pushes me to recognize every moment as a gift. Even the pissy moments. Sometimes when I do something that aggravates Tina (yes, I can actually aggravate that lady), I'll remind her that I will be dead someday and she'll just wish I was still here pissing her off. She would give her last breath for me to be upsetting her just one more time. It brings a sense of lightness and perspective to our relationship when things get a bit too heated.
All of this certainly doesn't take any emotion away such as sadness and the feeling of emptiness, but I wouldn't want it that way. I cried very hard for my dad. I still do. I always will. I cry sometimes just for my mom; for losing the love of her life so early. I cry for my dear friends, family really, who lost their loved one last year. The emotion death brings up is very real and very powerful. It reminds me that I am still here. Still among the living. And still able to share in the gift of life by waking the hell up to the fact that I am here.
The truth is any one of us could die in the next moment. That is the fact. Rather than running from that fact and trying not to look at it, it seems we would be better served to embrace this bit of reality. To truly live this day as if it were our last. I know it sounds cliche, but it's cliche because it is true. Our little lives are just too short to live in darkness without expressing the life and potential that we can.
My mom never got to say goodbye to her husband. He left on a routine fishing outing just like he had a thousand times before. He never came back. We can choose to take that part of the story and empower ourselves to live a more joyful, aware life. We can tell those closest to us how we really feel about them. We can even make it part of our language, "If I never see you again, know that I love you with all of my being."
Too much? I don't think so. I know my mother would have loved to hear those words before her lover left her for the last time. I know she would give away all that is dear to her to say those words to him now.
Screw being cheesy or overemotional. Everything ends. Everything. Everyone. We don't know when. Live and love while you can. Laugh and sing while you can. Hug and tickle while you can. Yell and scream while you can. Dance and bless while you can. Pee and poop while you can. Share all your light while you can.
I couldn't end that rant with the pee and poop part. A man has to have his boundaries.
I have heard it said that some cultures 'court' the angel of death. They invite 'her/him' every morning to their awareness as a reminder of the fact that all that comes, must eventually go. There is much wisdom there.
There is so much more I will say, but writing this has made me miss Tina and Eli. I better get home to see them while I still have them. And if I never see you again, know that I honor and respect you. I wish for you a life full of wonder and joy. May you truly bless and be blessed.
Dino
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