From My Journal: Questions

Our May days have caught the warm summer fever while the nights are still bowing down to winter's late chill. My body becomes infused with the sun and wants to play hooky rather than teach. Between students I pick a few garden weeds, water or stand on the front deck and meditate upon the surrounding trees. Life seems straight forward when I first greet the morning and as I mosey around my garden admiring my baby vegetable starts and newly blooming flowers. But in the evenings as darkness falls and I close the curtains, I often turn inside to greet the underside of warmth.

Why is it that now in my sixties I think constantly of death? Certainly in my twenties I had occasional philosophical lapses into what my life was all about and its eventual end. But time seemed stretched towards an open eternal future. Reaching sixty was like someone knocked on my door and announced the seemingly long years have been taken away and you have only minutes left. No doubt this realization comes at the appropriate life stage, but it sucks!

What sucks is my obsession with the end rather than a more dedicated concentration upon my living. Is this what I am trying to do, make the switch from knowing death is near to appreciating each day's gifts? I've always been a meditator, a constant, churning thinker. In this regard I believe those who don't read or don't put too much weight upon thought have the edge here. Animals live in the moment as do special needs beings and children. Knowing less about the workings of the world can be an advantage. Is it because I know more than I did in my youth that I feel the presence of darkness more? Has my philosophical pondering increased or has this characteristic always been with me?

At one point several months ago I let my fears surrounding death literally eat me alive with anxious, sleepless nights. Recently I have found a calmer center where I return when the fears begin. I hush my over-dramatic inclinations with soothing phrases such as “your youthful spirit is on the rise; you have decades left to witness nature's miracles; it's only the abundant present that matters and presently you are abundantly alive. In truth I know death is on the near horizon and from the moment of birth this is so; but from where I stand, the horizon remains in the future. When I try to gobble the future, I find I am often spitting out the contents in distaste. When I focus my energy, my thoughts on the presented present, the eating is more delicious and enjoyable.

Why do simple lessons take the longest to digest? I fling open the Star Room curtains and there right in front of me is an answer. There are newly formed yellow, rose blossoms on my climbing rose. I gasp as I see these blooms for I hadn't noticed them before. To notice, to see, to exclaim, to feel awe. Life doesn't ask much of us, but it is eternally there for the asking. Why do I forget to open my eyes? Why can't I stop my mind from ruining the surprises? Or rather why can't I remember how easy it can be to stop the mind? All I have to do is to become engrossed in love, in passion, in people, in nature, in opening windows.

© 2012