Tuesday, June 25, 2019

A Favor


“Death is a favor to us.”
                                                        Hafiz 
                                                                      from Deepening The Wonder

It’s been almost 10 years since I first ran into the poem of Hafiz’s that held that line about death being a favor. Initially, I noticed it.  It had some kind of compelling quality that made it grab my attention, but I wasn’t ready to reflect very deeply upon it then. I am ready now. I guess I needed to age, and hopefully mature some, before I could start integrating what it holds for me. Life is strange that way. I came across “Deepening The Wonder” years ago, noticed this line, and here I am, visiting it years later. How, and why, did it stay with me all this time?

I think I have died many times. Certainly, my stroke has taken me into another world, where I could barely recognize myself.  Everything changed. Death, in that instance, carried me into a mind-warping reality, that brought me to the rampant confusion that is now my life. This was an example of reincarnation that took place all on this plane of existence. I’ve been through a few of these kind of soul migrations.  They take my breath away, and then land me in a new life. So, that has colored my thinking about how favorable death is. 

I have already been carried away, unexpectedly, a few times. As Rumi says, “When, by dying, have I ever been made smaller?” Somehow, I too, have been made larger, more aware, sensitized, and with a greater passion for what Life holds. Death seems to have taken me into realms of being, that made me more me, and then, given me some time, to more fully become this new being, before death moved me on. Each time, my life became something else.

I feel like I’m being refined. Each incarnation seems to extract some kind of new essence of me, some little noticed essential ingredient. I try to hold onto myself, but I inevitably slip away into something else. I like it — have found a confidence, a kind of equanimity, that makes shifting alright. Aging has helped with that. But, I still feel a kind of disequilibrium, a rush of adrenalin-like dizziness, that unseats me, and sends me spinning into a fresh encounter with emptiness. All in all, its bracing.

The greatest favor I have identified so far, is how clarifying death is. I start missing people, things, situations, and dreams before I pass, or before they do. My heart seems to break, in all the right places. I even find the wherewithal sometimes, to honor them, to really appreciate the miraculous nature of what I am exposed to, as passing takes place. Oddly, that has made living more vivid. Goodbye has become more poignant too.

There is a strange sweetness that attends death. Impermanence seems to have an embellishing effect. I am so touched by what I cannot hold. There is something striking about everything going, it’s as if some greater emptiness is calling to be filled, and attachment gives way, and the spirit, that lives by moving from one inside to another, goes in motion. Joy purifies joy.

Passing seems so fraught in our culture. Death is anything but joy unleashed. Why is that? I don’t know. But aging has given me perspective, allowing me to entertain newly discerned patterns, and changed my mind. Death is a favor to us. It is a passport, to any of the foreign realms where new forms lurk, and purification continues.




Ambient Uncertainty

It’s rising. Can you feel it? I can. There is an anxiety in the air, a pressurized hurry, that seems to be most everywhere. Even the water tastes of it. I feel myself eroding.  I usually feel freed by ‘not knowing,’ but something else is happening this time. It seems to be centered everywhere, like it doesn’t have a home, or its homelessness extends to this moment, this place. Life, the vitality that underlies this being, this energized actualization, is weighted with some tense freight. I can feel the atmosphere darkening, trees losing their luster, the hours becoming precious.

Something is waiting. Growing and waiting. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell others can feel it too. It is breathing down my neck. I would be squirming, if I could. Instead, I have this feeling of growing dread, like I’m somehow in the horror movie I’m watching. Perhaps, I am. One of the hapless, soon to be victims, of a strange monster, that wants to feed on me. It lurks, and I innocently go about my business. 

I’ve been feeling oppressed lately. There is a storm rising on the horizon. I can see it and feel it. I know it is coming. Not everybody sees it, or feels it, but I know some do. It is like growing older, and recognizing that death is closer. But, nobody is talking about it. I am strangling slowly from the lack of shared concern. My world is going down into some abyss, and I’m alone with the dawning recognition of what that means. Uncertainty is mounting.  I am screamingly lost, without other humans, isolated by this horrible awareness, unable to drink deeply of the miracle of the moment, because I am alone with this poignancy and disappearing beauty.

I am still here, a witness, gutted by what’s going on. I am facing what I would not, thought I could not, face. I don’t really have another choice. I’m seeing what we have done. I know I am complicit. I took the easy way too. Aching numbness overwhelms me. I want to be in the arms of my loved ones, and I wonder where they are. I realize, to my chagrin, that they too, participated in our mass suicide. 

I am not dead yet. I’m some sort of walking (actually wheeling) zombie. I am more dead than alive, defiantly angry and despairing. The rubble, the  world of appearances, looks so good, the smiles reassuring, and the inevitability so complete. It is an intoxicating set of circumstances. I keep wondering. “Why am I alive for this?” My only answer is “Why not.” 

The world, my precious mother, keeps providing, acting like nothing is wrong. Maybe for her, nothing is. But, for me, the storm clouds are gathering, the pressure is mounting, and I feel an increasing sense of dread. I’m ashamed to realize, I’ve never been so vulnerable. My soul is outstretched, do you feel it too, will you come into my arms, can I admire you for these last moments. You, like me, are such a beautiful and sensitive abomination.

The suspense is killing me. Maybe that’s the plan. Metamorphosis by loss, and shame, and of being a creative mistake. I hope I have another chance, and that my memory won’t fail. You too.

Teetering is a strange business. Utterly human, and desperately lively. My heart, is like some wild animal, penned into being a beast of burden. It shatters, then enlarges, and shatters again. My body is in the process of becoming dust anyway. So, why does it matter. I don’t really know. But, I feel the tide turning.