Loving What Comes After Life
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
-Kahlil Gibran
Dear Reader,
Do you mind if I talk about something taboo?
I think about dying. A lot.
I guess if I were to put words to what I feel to be happening to my physical body, it is kind of petrification. Like the left side of my chest is gradually turning to stone.
I hesitate to put words to it, for I do not wish to doom myself by adding weight to what feelings are simply there.
I attempt simple unbiased observation. Yet, I am so plugged into this human form I am currently, my feelings are part of the experience.
When I was a child I would pet our beloved family cat at night when no one was around and cry, thinking ahead of the day he would be no longer physically present. My thoughts would drift to the day my parents would no longer be physically present…and, well, more quiet tears ensued.
In this seemingly completely unnecessary anticipatory grief, as I allowed myself to experience the idea that mortal life ends in death, I not only touched my inner sadness, I also felt an intense, peaceful, cosmic sense of love. What an experience- this temporary state of affairs, this incredible love, and this complete inability to stop life from moving along to its inevitable end. These were transcendent moments.
God.
The other day, I heard His voice. Not audible. But a message. A feeling imprinted with five simple words.
“You don’t have to worry.”
It came in the midst of a busy work day at the title company. Punching in numbers, names, answering the phone, hearing the “click, click” of the wall clock, and every so often feeling that eerie tightness in the chest creeping up like an uninvited visitor.
“You don’t have to worry.”
“I don’t have to worry about what?”
“Death. Suffering. What will happen to you. What will happen to your kids. To your family. What’s going on on Facebook. What other people think of you. The state of the world. What to wear. What to eat. What to drink. Money. Pleasing others. Being accepted. Being useful. Being loved. You don’t have to worry….about any of it.”
Like some Matrix lesson had been downloaded, I suddenly understood that worry was a choice I was making. I didn’t HAVE to. Even if my culture has taught me that death is scary and something to avoid at all costs. Even if my human nature is so programmed to survive, that the idea of petrifying innards is troubling. There is no rule saying that such an experience has to be scary. In truth, it could be the most enlightening experience of one’s life.
I’ve put so much faith in this human life experiment that a large part of my mind is committed to the idea that THIS LIFE IS THE PLACE TO BE. But somehow, with this unexpected message, I understood, there really is something “beyond” there for me now AND after this.
Instead of being afraid, instead of feeling insecure and clinging to the idea that Anastasia IS WHO I AM, I am invited to welcome in a cosmic awareness of, “We’re just getting started.”
In my imagination, I feel myself there, with God, aware of His presence, His being, and what this life has been. The cloak of mystery is for a moment removed. I’ve made it to the other side and it’s really okay. Why did I cling so hard to my human life? On the other side, it’s now harder to understand. I see that I was scared to let go. And that’s pretty typical. But….not necessary. It’s not a MUST. I can choose.
I don’t have to worry.
And neither do you.
So, here’s to balancing feelings with faith, human identity with cosmic identity, and our love of life with a love also, of what comes after life.
Whether we reach that “place” 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, or 50 years from now.
Thank you God.
