Indeed, as these messages of death and dying come pouring in incessantly from various angles, moving from the subtle to the overt, there’s no way to listen into such insistence without wondering if death is really calling me. I hope not, for my family’s sake. Yet, in being honest about these reflections, I can’t discount that I am in that mirror.
This could simply be – the final squeeze
The head traveling through the vaginal corridor …
A door to new life.
That is hopeful optimism for life …
The will to write (right) my wrongs.
The song that plays on repeat does have a stop button
And death comes all of a sudden.
But, if I’m looking at the end
And death is around the bend (it is regardless)
Then, was this life worth it’s weight?
It could have been if I truly appreciated the love that had been given.
Always believing that there is more or better …
Ignoring the blessing in my grasp …
Unable to live up to the task … of the unconditional.
Compassion … blah!
Love … blah!
The Universe says, “Hah! You inappreciative prick!”
Too distracted by more – a different type of gluttony.
So many wonderful people have come to share their heart
Only for me to tear them apart.
I’m not worthy.
Sometimes we take without recycling
the love that sustains us.
I’m beating myself up
Because my cup runneth over
and I perceive it as half-empty.
Spoiled to death …
Until death teaches …
Each moment in the presence of love, as awkward, raw or amazing it is, is to be appreciated with intense gratitude.
Isn’t this the point? To be able to pay such great attention to this blessed project of living … and loving?