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A Graceful Goodbye
A friend of mine is dying. He’s doing such a great job of it. . .he is keeping a blog and each post is woven with such authenticity, grace, and wisdom.
Over the past 5 years or so, I’ve experienced several different deaths and each one has been so very different. Each one has been a small gem of authentic expression and as unique as the particular individual. Death is so personal and it is a path that we travel hopefully with good company and surrounded by love. . .and also, ultimately, alone. There must be this place in between the letting go and the opening to what is coming that is truly terrifying.
How will I die when my time comes I wonder? Not what will happen, though of course I think about that too. Of course I hope for a painless death and a quick one, and one that takes place a long time from today. It would be hard, I imagine, to say goodbye to this beautiful life, filled with passion and challenge and experience and amazing people that I love wholeheartedly.
Whenever the timing, I hope I will be grounded in my Self and able to be conscious about my passing. I hope I will remain present to the experience and curious about the process. Of course I will be transformed by this process. . .for isn’t death the ultimate transformation. I hope that I will be in such a way that I serve the others in my life and that they are nourished and served, grown and transformed in the process of my dying. I do so want to contribute, both in life and in death. Actually, I believe that’s what every human wants at their core. . .to know that they have made a difference and that their life has mattered.
As always, conversations about death bring me fully present to the precious gift of LIFE. I’m writing this post in the early morning as the fog curls it’s way down to the vast, rolling ocean. What a view! May I be fully present today. May I savor every passing moment, be it filled with belly aching laughter or heartbreak or disappointment or everything in between. May I be present to what IS rather than wanting what IS NOT. As Mary Oliver says so beautifully in her poem below, may I be a bride married to amazement. Isn’t that an incredible line? Yes, today and every day, may I be a bride married to amazement!
I’m also reminded that each day provides an opportunity for a part of me to die. What wants to die today so that something larger, something more real or true can be born in it’s place. What limiting belief, what life constricting practice is ready to be released? What story from the past is boxing me in, keeping me from my beloved, Amazement? May I see these things and lovingly, like a mother to a child, put them to bed to sleep the eternal sleep of death.
What wants to die in you today? What wants to be birthed?
KKH
When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
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Amanda
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Martha~
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Nicole
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Coachsue
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JeannyH
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Melanie
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