What have I done?

Did I promise to die?

Last week not only did I write to you about the great benefit of dying to goals and drive but I also shared the blog with my friends on Facebook. A moment of popularity followed, most notably with my high school boyfriend posting several pictures of me with long hair, seemingly innocent, dreams not yet shattered. I was called an inspiration and a few other laudables, and people seemed to be saying goodbye. My life felt over, and I was suddenly awake to how future had changed into history, how many possibilities had vanished. 

Last week I also saw some dear friends in person, and the contrast between how I am now and how I was the last time I saw them was stark and scary. I mentioned it, yes, but tried not to hog the conversation with the agony I was experiencing, tried to listen to what they were doing--how are the kids, how is your health, your career? They were helpful and kind, and I felt weaker and weaker, diminished by real life exploding in spring, expectations of reopenings that I knew I couldn't participate in. 

What happened to my wise enlightenment only a few days ago? I couldn't sleep, woke at 5:30 terrified of dying, staggered through the day. I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it another month, maybe not even til Friday.

What have I done? Why do I have to go? Why can't I have another shot at this? That girl in the flippers, the girl in the tree, did she ever have a chance? Unfair was my war cry in childhood, and Unfair is chasing me into death. And what good was all that Zen training? 

Then yesterday I took a journey with a certain fungi and a beautiful human guide, met a ram in the darkness who kept pushing into my tree trunk, separating the strands, eyes blazing, determined to put an end to something. It was unbearably sad and scary but I bore it, thinking my heart would explode from the pain, while also sensing in the periphery bird calls and sirens, periwinkle lights in the web of existence. My penpal in prison sent a drawing of claws and fangs (usually he sends flowers and hearts) as he counselled me with deep compassion about my childhood. My friend told about a book, The Angel and the Assassin. I am giving a talk with a colleague next week on Love and Anger. And this morning, news of yet another shooting.

Violence is part of our nature, and death is a certain outcome. Attacked by the ram in my vision, in my being, I could only fall apart. Again. Empty again, I slept deeply, woke this morning with more strength than I'd had in weeks. Walked, hummed, smiled at the people in the park, gazed in awe at the threatening sky, smelled the hyacinth, stroked a flower. Dallied. 

We'll see what next week brings. Hope to see ya!

April 16, 2021