The Living-est Moment

Somewhere along the way, I heard a poem that contained the words “living-est moment,” and it was like a bell rang inside me. What I experienced was a bomb going off. In a familiar way, I knew I had been captured by a metaphor, which I would have to write about. In my usual way, as a writer, I was excited. But, as time passed, and the time for writing neared, I began to feel dread. I have nothing to say, no eloquent ideas, no sense of how to proceed. The “living-est moment” evades me, leaving me baffled, and wondering what is going to come out.

I’ve identified some fear. Maybe, it occurred to me, the moment has already come and gone, and I simply didn’t notice it. My life might already be on the downhill side of such a moment. Being older is such an uncertain experience. It leaves me shaken and often dubious. I may no longer be capable of my “living-est moment.” Oh, that is a grievous thought.

I have to admit that such thinking sometimes causes me to tremble. That trembling is bad enough, but then I think my “living-est moment” is still ahead of me, and then I tremble even harder. You see, I have this inkling, that my “living-est moment” is going to come when I am confronted with my own death. Just as I get that I am on the threshold, I am likely to experience a burst, adrenaline will mix with fear, desire, relief, grief, and a deep unusual nostalgia — a good-bye filled with longing, love, and a sweet fulfillment. I expect it to be an intense multi-dimensional moment. Energy, of a sort, will flow in all directions.

I had the fantasy, when I first encountered these words, that I might write about the inner circumstances that might promote such a lucid vitality, but as time has gone along, and I had to admit to myself, that I just couldn’t imagine such a thing. What a disappointment! I couldn’t fool myself into believing I could produce such a moment. Somehow, this notion just didn’t fit into my pantheon of human potential. I couldn’t actually assume that my “living-est moment” was really mine.

That absence of belief disturbs me. It leaves me on a dependent edge, I have ambivalent feelings about. I love paradox. I consider it one of the gifts of old age. My understanding of paradox is that when I’m present enough to experience it, that the transcendent becomes evident. Those are times when I feel deeply reassured. But, my intuition that my “living-est moment” might be my last, and that it isn’t even mine, gives me the heeby-jeebies.

Maybe, I could take solace, in the experience that isn’t mine. I am growing ready to give up taking so much responsibility. I have labored too long, and hard, around the notion that it is all my doing.  This disturbing notion seems to indicate that something else is going on. Life itself, might very well be, responsible for what I cannot create, my “living-est moment.” Isn’t that a more pleasant thought. The Cosmos seems to have some kind of stake in a dust particle like me.

Now, I don’t know what else to write. I’ve revealed something of my state of unknowing. Even so, I still find myself wishing I could leave you with some kind of glib well wishing, a good-bye that expresses my gratitude, in case you bothered to read this entire foray into my gibbering.

All I can say, I guess, is that may you experience your ‘living-est moment” somewhere beyond the shape of my daydreams.