On Saturday, I was honored and privileged to be part of a healing circle for a vibrant woman -mother of two, runner, therapist - who has been recently diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.
I was most struck that, by all accounts, she looks perfectly healthy. Right now, this problem is invisible. It is hard for her to fully drop into the grave reality of this for longer than a moment or so, as she too remarks that there is not yet any real evidence that she is experiencing.
This made me ponder what is the unknown destiny of my mortality ? What is MY brain tumor ? I cannot sit with this woman and be so arrogant as to think that I am lucky that I get to have a long life ... nothing is guaranteed or promised. Dropping into this more, I was transported to being a little girl and lying awake, during sleep hours, with only the glow of my nightlight, and being terrified of the idea of death. I think it was a way that I skimmed the surface of my relationship to the unknown and the terror that came with it. As an adult, thoughts of death revolved around self-centered fears of others dying and me being left -- still operating from that place of fear of abandonment. Today, being awake to this experience found me moved to tears of exquisiteness and preciousness for my life and what it would be like to know that I am the one leaving. One of the first pictures that entered my mind was saying goodbye to the love of my life on the ferry last night as she stood on the deck, the wind blowing through her gorgeous locks and feeling so in love with the beauty of all that she is. If that was my last contact with her before dying, I would leave here having experienced such a depth of love that perhaps some never get a taste of. That is a gift and an appreciation of being in Life.
This precious woman we did the healing with also spoke about trying very hard to live - one day at a time. I suspect it will be one minute at a time on some days. This is what I am taught in my recovery program -- not just to keep me sober, but rather to have me fully engaged in the present moment.
On my drive home through several states last night, in a torrential downpour, I put on a song from Rascal Flatts -- "When the Sand Runs Out" -- and I sobbed hearing a portion of the lyrics and thinking about this woman, the preciousness of her life, of my life, of being alive and connected here, as One, with humanity.
Here are a few of those moving lines:
I'm gonna stop looking back
and start moving on
Learn how to face my fears
Love with all of my heart, make my mark
I wanna leave something here
Go out on a ledge, without any net
That's what I'm gonna be about
Yeah, I wanna be running
When the sand runs out
May each of us be in touch with the Reality that we have a not yet known brain tumor otherwise known as our inevitable death, and be in conversation and in relationship to it, so that we may live fully - right here, right now.
No comments:
Post a Comment