I'm back from America and my grandfather's funeral. This is not my first touch with death by far, though each time it is a journey, at times arduous but in it's own way life-giving, for how much more can one appreciate life than when faced with it's final chapter? We have this vessel, into which we pour all our experiences and then one day the vessel is empty. Where does all that experience and knowledge, wisdom and folly go? The very nature of existence has caused man to invent answers and defend those answers sometimes by the sword.
When I was six years old I lost someone whose presence I never doubted to be in. In that moment I awoke, I began to see and hear and know the miracle that we are alive. To be given the gift of awareness of one's own existence at that age is a revelation.
That we live in this form that breathes, thinks, creates language and so many, many other things, is truly a privilege. Forget how or even why we are here or what happens when we are not, and see this: that we exist, now, in this moment in time. Open your hand in front of your face and look at it, look at the space around it, feel and hear the air come into and go out of your lungs and know that at this moment, right now, you are here. Amazing.
So I choose, at this time of grieving, not to dwell on what has been lost, but what was given, giving what I can in return, and accepting gratefully this gift of life, filling this vessel. My goal is that my glass will be more than half full, it will be brimming over, and in the end when it is spilled, know that I have savored every drop, bitter and sweet.