"If I must die, I must inspire while I live," & Painful or Peaceful Partings





Is death something that elicits terror or excitement or both? As author Michael Singer says, “Let’s just let it be something to look forward to as the ultimate once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

 

One Café goer described how his wife was not able to complete her dying, and was sent back here to Earth school to clear up her two “voodoo dolls,” grudges she was holding with two people in her life. Having spent a lot of time in the NDE, near-death-experience space, he said that many who have had NDEs report wanting to die, to continue to move on, because they felt such peace and beauty on the other side!

 

Someone shared the strength she is finding from practicing a Buddhist sentiment to not dwell in the past or dream of the future, but to concentrate on the present. Another attendee shared that he has reaped benefits from heeding advice to just turn off the car radio. Unlike the 1960’s TV show, The Outer Limits, we ARE in control of our set; turn the dial, flip the switch, and tune in to what turns you on!

 

“If I must die, I must inspire while I live.” These words encircled the image of a sock monkey freshly tattooed on the forearm of a lovely young woman I met recently in a café. Later, when I looked at the photograph I’d asked her if I could take, I saw that edges of the monkey’s hands and feet were slightly unravelling. I found the phrase attributed to lyricists from Let Us At Last Praise The Colonizers of Dreams, Shai Hulud.

 

Someone shared about the disturbing loss that can, and often does, result from our holding firmly to our ideas and feelings as if they are facts about any given circumstance, especially without the possibility of gaining greater perspective. In our relating to one another, misunderstanding, misreading a situation, knowing only part of the story, is common. If we aren’t able to gain a larger perspective, “talk it out and figure it out,” feelings like anger, sadness, confusion, hurt or betrayal can persist. If death is involved we can feel robbed of the possibility of reconciliation or understanding. When heavy burdens from traumatic events in our past go unattended, our Café goer mused, how do we carry on? 

 

Others shared how our upbringings as children echo throughout our lives. Raised in strict families, perhaps religious or military, by mothers whose mothers may have had unfathomable hardships, might result in admonishments like “It’s Gods’ will, you cannot cry,” that stick to us through life. Our childhood universes were all we knew and it’s only by time passing and reflection that we can see things differently, grow in compassion, and make our own new choices.

 

A few days after our March Café I had this experience and thought it fit well with our conversation.

 

I was shopping and a young woman was slow to notice I was waiting for her to move her cart. I’d stood there long enough to understand that she was carefully relaying to her girlfriend what her friends, now ex, distressed boyfriend had said. Eventually, she caught my eye and I shared that, if possible, allowing each person to have clarity regarding the relationship ending was important, and otherwise could have lifelong damaging effects. I said that each person could simply say what they needed to say, one at a time, with no cross conversation. She was appreciative and we both carried on.

 

We are a part of choosing heartache or happiness in any given moment. Gaining skillfulness at safeguarding our own hearts and allowing that possibility for others even as we do hard things is possible. We don’t have to search for something we don’t already have in order to do this. Viktor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning, always comes to mind, even in the darkest times, we can reach for what we know to be true; kindness, beauty, joy, peace. We can practice, as our Café goer and friends along the way are, to inhabit this very moment, to witness the unravelling with grace, to choose to inspire, and however awkwardly, to knit the world together in new moments one open-hearted stitch at a time.


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