Quiet the questions in your mind long enough, and you might hear the answers your heart knows to be true. Trust your heart, listen to it carefully, wear your heart on your sleeve and let it break open.
Let me tell you now how much I will miss you.
Let me not spend another moment wandering the world with words unspoken.
Let me not wait until you are gone, as I have waited with so many now lost from me, and narrowed my eyes as withered chances blew past my flushed cheeks, lifted by a sudden wind, leaves in a wheelbarrow carried back to the place where only a moment before, I gathered them.
As if I were trying to perform a task far too large for me, something to test the bounds of my mortal endurance.
I stood in a glass house at the edge of the sea.
I watched as the tide rose, gradually swallowing the house, waves breaking against glass walls, and over the glass roof, booming, rattling, trembling.
Seaweed, rocks, shells, too many fish to count, so many colors.
Then came the crabs, starfish, anemones, cephalopods, sliding, clicking across the transparent roof, pressed up against the glass.
Then came the sea turtles, their old tough shells cracking the glass as the force of the sea slammed them against it. The house was completely underwater now, and water began to seep through the cracks with mounting pressure.
My blood lurched through the veins in my neck. I thought of running wildly from room to room, but just found myself standing perfectly still.
I saw the small dark shape of a whale on the underwater horizon, the fluid border of sight. I tried to blink it away, but it was still there, and it was coming.
It swept nearer, loomed closer, until it filled my vision completely. The transparent house was outside the whale’s awareness, so on it came, about to collide into the glass I stood behind.
Friends, this is how it is to die and be reborn.
This is how it is, returning from the death of your animal nature.
“To do good work one must eat well, be well housed, have one’s fling from time to time, smoke one’s pipe, and drink one’s coffee in peace.”
Say yes to storms, stillness, success, failure, silence, noise. Yes to high winds, bitter cold, sweltering heat, crushing loneliness, joyful connection, isolation, liberation.
Yes to the broken and the unbreakable. Yes to the shaken and the unshakeable.
Say yes to danger, safety, pain, pleasure, exhaustion, energy. Yes to the suffering you’ve known and the gifts you’ve been given. Yes to a small and closed-in place, yes to the mystery of limitless space.
Say yes to old hurts, fresh wounds. Yes to your rise and yes to your fall, to effort and ease. Yes to the fields of time and timelessness.
Say yes to all the things you think you could never do or be, yes to anything you’re afraid of. Yes to duality and oneness. In saying yes, you become unstuck. When you say yes, nothing can hold you hostage.
How small are we, how fortunate to see with eyes the dolphin, the stallion, the bee, being what they are and doing what they do.
To hear with ears the wind across the palisades of mountains and the song of the ocean.
To know with flesh the pleasure and pain of the body, lust and hunger, bleeding and burning.
To thirst with spirit for the very earth we walk on, for an open dome of sky or dense canopy of rainforest.
To sacrifice with courage all that we are, and send an invitation to what we might become.
How small are we, how fortunate.
Celebrating life’s riddles as blessings in disguise requires a willingness to be open and flexible.
Rather than questioning everything, you just watch closely, wait patiently, and listen deeply.
It’s kind of like lying down on the ground and letting it support you.