Home, I said. In every language there is a word for it. ~ Mary Oliver
As you slip towards the end of your days, what do you need in order to know that the work you came to do is done? At the long end of that tunnel of light, looking back, what do you have that will help you behold a life well lived, a love well given, a journey completely and courageously taken?
Maybe you’ve yet to do what you came to do; maybe you’ve yet to become who you came to become. Or maybe that undone thing, that unpaid debt, that unkept promise—maybe this diamond in the rough of an unfinished life is more polished than you think. How can you know? What would it take to leave this life feeling ready to go? Continue reading →
Just because I was born
precisely here or there, in some cold city or other, don’t think I don’t remember how I came along like a grain carried by the flood—
~ Mary Oliver
The last days of our lives, whether several years or just a few weeks, are as different, mine from yours, as the number of us who will stand before that tunnel of light, our entire lives billowing behind us like Christo’s Running Fence.
And then again, the moment of death is the same for everyone. Each of us will know the rhythm of the liver and the kidney and the heart, shutting down one by one. Each of us will know the filling of our sails with that one last suck of wind. Each will know the severing of that invisible umbilical that links the body to the soul. Continue reading →