NEW BEGINNINGS
The crispness of the air always signals a fresh start, as dry leaves pile up and feet crunch through them. This fall in particular I find myself with things to celebrate and things to mourn.
In July, a life-threatening event brought me face to face with my inner core – that part of me I felt I knew so well. Those of you who have faced death and chosen life can perhaps relate to the loss of old ways, old notions, and the person you used to be. As I’ve struggled to understand and move through this mass of bewilderment, words on paper have helped. Below is a poem that describes some of turmoil:
Summer Journey
by Sue Paulson © 2007
At the height of summer heat,
death stared me in the face.
Boldly beckoning
as red cells
pumped out.
Guardians of life
stitched me up,
tucked me in.
Poured foreign corpuscles
into hungry veins.
How painless, peaceful
the start of that flight
to the afterworld.
Struggles, fears and bills
left behind.
Yet here I sit
in the cold of dawn,
shivering with the angst of re-entry.
Passion gone, purpose fled.
One question remaining:
Who am I now?
It feels as if I’m living on many levels at the same time; on one floor, very little seems to be important enough to trigger much emotion, positive or negative , on the next my gratefulness has increased a hundred-fold for the smallest things – a sunset, green grass, the smile of a child. Colors are more vivid, conversations more precious. Although I used to have many questions (and even a few answers), I seem more content to let things be as they are, whether there are questions or not. It’s fascinating to me that in small ways I’ve given up the struggle and am more open to receiving. Holes in traffic open up, parking spaces appear – life is easier. Now that’s weird!
Byron Katie, in her latest book, A Thousand Names for Joy, talks about living in the moment and believing in the perfection of that moment. Neither good nor bad if we don’t choose to label them, moments can just be. Prior to my summer journey, I struggled with the concepts. Now I begin to understand her point of view.
If change is the one constant in our lives, then I suspect I will continue the shedding of my old skin. What the new will be like is a mystery. Outwardly, I continue as before – working, cooking, running errands. The enlightenment comes slowly, in bits. I’m reminded of that old quote, Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. Now that’s living in the moment!
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