9.1.14 Seems What Matters Wholly Is Being

I am interested in any and all individual's sense of what death may be- of what dying may be like.

I am interested in traditions and stories of 'death and back'; of fables and myths and rituals and belief systems and experiences and dreams and any individual sense of what is death. 

I have known those who died and are alive again today. One who took their life and was come upon and brought back . "Here you go. Back with us. Come on. Let's help you feel more at home here. Come on."

It must mark us, and deeply; regardless of the circumstances, to lose and them regain your own life , no matter the circumstance.
Far more common is to have a life- for a moment or a week or a few years or perhaps into adulthood, and sometimes-sometimes- into old age. 

Having birthed my three children at home , it stills me , the unknown. Brings me right up short. How we know not when we shall enter , nor exit, our lives. 

In fact, for some of us ,of great and regrettable origins , life is fraught with difficulty, married up tight with glorious tender regard for each precious moment.

For this reason , I have never taken it for granted. Being here. Being adult and safe and free. Well fed and sheltered, and eventually? Loved. 

Getting to have children! The shock of ending up with a devoted beloved . Of being alive this long. None of these did I assume would be part of my being here, certainly.

But the more this preciousness has invoked my life , even as other factors continually limit it, the more I feel this almost primal need- to both truly appreciate what I am able to do- right now.
And to educate and prepare myself for whenever I will no longer be this able.

Seems logical , then, for the unimaginable gradual loss of our capacities at some point - to inform ourselves of the grandeur of the ability to stand , at this moment . To sleep well. To stretch and walk and run and lift weights and do what we can to increase our agility and circulation and cardiac strength and nervous system ease. 

To engage with the sun salutation, and pause in our days for awhile, for mindFULLness. 

To relish the taste of freshly picked and lightly steamed Kale. To be able to PICK and cook and clean up. 

The array of sensations as a Blackberry bursts in our mouths. The press of our lips upon another's . The grasp of a friend's hand, firm surrounding ours, as we whisper with tears or howl with laughter, pinching each other.

All of which is why I think so often of dying. Kind of a - Move toward that which could be most difficult. Move gently and wisely, but do move, eyes open, heart and mind learning, and aware.

I have not known many family or friends who have died.
I have held innumerable animals, and one snake on the roadside, as they died. 

I have known closely many many clients -children and adults-who were dying , and died. 

I once was a Caseworker who drove through the hills of Leverett and Shutesbury and Montague, visiting older people, listening to them want to live, or yearn to die.

I have been given dreams from those dying, to discover the next day that they were dying when they sent me that dream, saying everything was ok, now. And visions of those about to die or who have recently died . 

I do nothing with these , save say Thankyou. And honor their lives .
They certainly are not experiences to try to 'figure out 'or make sense of or struggle to align with beliefs. They just 'are'.
Simply. Like a cloud or an ant or a bear or a smile. The flutter of a cat's eyes in sleep. Pounding storms. Love. Grace . It all is.

I do , myself, sometimes have this feeling that our actual dying involves whatever our own convictions have been. Funny, huh? Whereas after? 

I myself do have my own very clear 'knowing ' ,as Jung would retort, and possibly you have your own also. 

Or not. Some people I meet have no need . In fact, some I meet need to have no notion, and rather ,have a profound sense of END upon death , which they find solidifying . No precepts . No unknown factors . 

Straightforward. I can see the appeal. 

There are those I've conversed with who feel a distinct disdain for what they see ,as a human frailty and yearning for some fantasy ever-after story , which they refuse to be privy to, on the grounds that , like much organized religion, it simply stands in, as a crutch, for the harshness of 'once here, and then nevermore'. 

As in, hold the pabulum. Which, from that vantage point of 'organized religion' and 'control of the masses' and 'profits' and 'church- sanctioned murder and control of others and slavery ' I - uh- certainly get. 

I am uncertain if this holds true when they find themselves dying, or quick as the speed if light, die , or not. 

Robert Bly is not the only one who wrote-gossipy or thoughtful -I'm uncertain - of how his friend Wallace Stevens eschewed all things religious; yet summoned a holy person of some kind to his death bed. We DO get to change our minds, you know-change and change and change again. No matter at all. No rules, save those that silly humans pretend.

So I often feel with me , and contemplate the movement and being of age old stories. Of traditions. Clan and tribal songs and ways. 

To me, it is no pabulum; no fairy tale to avoid the harshness of pain and death and dying, but rather old wise ways of growing our awareness of the connections we have been made of, and made from, all along.

Woven into all of us; our DNA. Our genes and breath and sleep. A divine song , over all that is; a tapestry of faith and love and generations. A simple quiet end of breath or tree or microbe or star? 

Seems what matters wholly is being, and being aware, at this precipitously given moment.