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  • As I have been reading stories over the last while, a recurring theme I am encountering is death and the resulting feelings of sadness, loss and grief. I've read stories about parents, grandparents, partners, children, friends, pets... These stories are chocked full of caring and love. Often what comes through clearly is the desire to memorialize the loved one and the relationships between the writers and those who have died.

    All of this has led me to musing about my own death.

    I KNOW I am going to die. That's not new. But, through our stories of death...mine included...I notice that, at this moment, I don't really BELIEVE I am going to die. In other words, I know the fact that I will die is accurate. But it just doesn't seem true.

    I cannot imagine a time when these eyes will not view this pair of Red-Bellied Woodpeckers as they eat at the feeder. Or a time when these ears will not hear Mozart or Vivaldi. Or a time when these fingers will not touch the keyboard to write a story like they are doing now. Or a time when my heart will not beat and will not feel deep and abiding love for those with whom I am least in the way it does today. I just cannot imagine.

    In my experience, the whole Universe extends out from inside 'here.' The only consciousness I am really aware of is my own. Just a few days ago, I was imagining what it might be like to experience the Universe through a friend's consciousness. But I cannot. It's just imagining.

    What this musing on my death someday has given me is a yet another new level of appreciation for my life in this moment.

    I notice that I am using my fingers to write this story.
    I pause and notice the sun shining brightly on the goldfinch.
    I hear the crow cawing from a distant tree.
    I feel my heart beating...and loving.



    [Photos by Barbara, through my office window, Minneapolis, Minnesota, April 29, 2012]
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