I have been thinking about what it means to die. And what it means to truly live.
While I was in Mexico I read The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. It was a really wonderful read. The Buddhists have a very different way of considering, and therefore dealing with, death and dying than do we in the West.
It got me to contemplating what I believe is true for me, in my own heart.
Now, this is not what I was taught to believe. I let that go a long time ago.
Once I let that go, I felt I was alone. That lasted for a long while. But eventually that changed. Now I know I am not alone, and was never alone.
Now I know the meaning of family.
What I have to say makes sense to me. I enjoy expressing myself in this manner, and I contemplate while I write. I am not asking anyone else to understand or to agree.
In the big picture, it really does not matter.
I have overcome a lot of my fears. One of them is the fear I had about examining and challenging my beliefs for fear of retribution by a wrathful, vengeful God. I no longer fear It or any part of It.
Because I no longer fear, I have no problem thinking, conversing and speaking the name of God, in whatever form It manifests, call it Source, call it the Tao, call it Creator, call it Science. I no longer feel the need to rebel or to argue for or against anything or anyone. To what is limitless, there is no differentiation.
I honour other’s paths but do not wish to follow them. My conclusions make sense to me.
I work at remaining mindful of the present moment in all my daily living and practice extending what I believe is love to all beings, knowing that I am not nearly as effective as I will be tomorrow, but that I am more effective today than I was yesterday.
I choose love, because choosing that feels better than its opposite.
I work with what I know for sure. Being grateful for this awareness brings further awareness. There is humbleness and joy there.
From this point I consider what it means to live and to die.
I can be reasonably certain that I arrived here as an infant. I have no recollection of that event, but there is evidence to support this as fact.
I can be reasonably certain that I do not remember consenting to this arrival. I have no recollection of my agreement, my contract, or whatever it could have entailed. For me, it could have happened in this way or that, but it is speculation. I am okay with that. It is what it is.
All I know is that I arrived just fine.
In this “in between” period is where I am supposed to live. I do the best I can, given my level of understanding. In each subsequent moment, I am being delivered into the next, somehow.
I am okay with that, because to resist it feels worse that choosing its opposite.
In my future it will end. It does for all, absolutely no exceptions, except in fantasy. This is my level of understanding at this point in my life. I could attempt to speed up that process and control its outcome, but I cannot delay or deny it.
I choose to live, because choosing that feels better than its opposite.
When I finally draw my last breath, where will I go? What if my recollection of “I” were to simply dissolve and “I” was, once again, part of wherever it was that brought me here in the beginning of this life?
What if there is no “it,” no object or entity at all? What if it only became “It” when I became “me?”
I got here just fine. I didn’t have to remember how or why in order to get here. I will leave just fine. I do not have to remember how or why in order to go.
It is what it is. Ad infinitum.