3.24.15 I have a feeling that when we live in villages, with the evidence of birth and death all around us, the immediacy of what is grace becomes clearer.

     Its of interest the way in which we humans, as our cultures develop, tend to trust that which we can prove, can posture, can debate in a linear fashion. Can support with what we aspire to be empirical knowledge, science. In our drive to be validated and honored, we began to leave behind the far murkier terrain of knowing within ourselves, and by that hand, are leaving behind even that capacity. The sense of life. Of others. Of ourselves.

     Time was, and still is in many places, that people had the self same sense of their lives, their health, and their approaching mortality that we have always observed in other creatures.

     Other beings know this about themselves, and prepare for what will be. Who knows if they feel grief or regret in the advent of their own demise. Their fellow creatures certainly do, something that humans used to understand, and then tragically lost.

     These days, we spend all kinds of time sharing vignettes of creatures behaving in profound ways, because we find it surprising. Amazing. Cute. Touching. Myself, I think we are in the process of remembering.

     As opposed to  just knowing well that animals have great complexity and, duh, care and feel a great deal. A sublime mixture of instinct and survival and love.

     We have this odd compulsion to go about analyzing and measuring and questioning and suspecting and assuming all sorts of erroneous things, until which time we once again disprove our very selves, and get to return to where humans were before, knowing.

     And of course, there is the fact that, with the exception of the aristocracy, for zillions of years humans saw and midwifed births of other creatures, and witnessed their illnesses or initiated their deaths. We birthed. We helped others be born. We knew death and illness intimately; not as something hidden behind curtains and distance and specialists and void of emotion.

     And sure, in some ways, the whole Kubler-Ross initiated revolution shifted and changed so much. 20 years ago there were few hospices, and people i know hired others to come be with those dying.

     I went to work on and ease the passage of many a child and adult and creature, in all those homes and nursing homes and hospitals, looking the process of dying in the face, walking down the path with so many and their loved ones.

     It is a hard thing, these experiences. They take a toll that we are not fully aware of at the moment. For, how can we be? We don't have villages and neighbors who are being born and dying next door, nor doing the butchering ourselves for our winter's repast. We fear illness and death, try hard to look the other way, and in this way spend so much of our time catching glimpses over our shoulders, wondering when Death will come.

     Which is not the deal. It isn't. The deal is to just live this moment. The funny thing is that when we live this moment and learn to calm and quiet the blah blah blah of the exhausting process of freely engaging fears and anticipation and mulling over the past withe uncertainty as to whether it merits feeling badly or not, we lose sight of both what all this does to our health. And we lose sight of what really matters.

     I have a feeling that when we live in villages, with the evidence of birth and death all around us, the immediacy of what is grace becomes clearer. And no, it's not good to romanticize anything, so we know that villages also mean being in proximity to all sorts of unfortunate situations.

     But nonetheless, here we are. In towns and cities where we can spend an entire lifetime never witnessing a birth or a death. Unless of course we slow down and calm our fears and learn to let ourselves go, in this moment we have now.

     What is amazing me right now is the way in which, when we spend a great deal of time prioritizing practicing mindfulness, it does something unrelated to our motivation to live mindfully.

     When the shit hits the fan in a big big big way, why we are all on board. We are in each and every moment. We calm and quiet speculation and regret and fears, tendering them for a moment, and then letting them do what they do best- be on their way.

     And then we relish what is, right right now. Gazing at the inimitable uniqueness of todays sunrise. Holding the hand of a dear one and simply looking into their face. That being perfectly enough.