There are certain types of people in our world who plan, who set goals, who save for a rainy day, who prepare for disasters.  And then, there is my mother.  And me.

             We visited with her this afternoon, extending her birthday celebration farther into the week, just how she likes it.  She is now 78, a cancer survivor, a woman who had three children, but one died.  She is irreverent, and she can be irrational.

             What she has never been, is cruel.  Nor has she ever really thought through much of anything.  She lives in the moment.  She has a strong faith.  She believes that there is already a Divine order to the world, and we must merely float along with it.

             As we chatted and ate her favorite meal (a large To Go order of Americanized Chinese food), we spoke of life, and of how it is all about

the experience.

             Which reminded me of the thousand sorrows and thousand joys in the Buddhist belief system.  We have charted this particular life to learn our lessons and help all who need assistance.  We are here to live, to feel, and to grow.

              One of our best reminders, is that we’re human beings, not human doings.  When we “be” and observe, enjoy and breathe, we are gaining the knowledge required to move forward.  We are gathering the tools, the energy, the power which will help us the most.

             When we remember that our feelings are as transitory as this body we’re wearing, we are better able to let go of trying to control them.  We are emotional, that’s our gauge.  If we experience sorrow the same as we do joy, then our heart is filled and our soul is in balance.

             Very often we over complicate shit which is better left simple.  Every exchange with my parents is a gift, I know this, and I appreciate it/never take it for granted.

             Earlier this week I learned of an on-line friend’s death.  We weren’t close, but she was (according to family and loved ones) a beautiful and caring person.  Finding out, months later, didn’t lesson my sorrow.  Instead, it brought up sadness from my own losses.

             Grief is strange.  But it’s part of our experience.  As I sat with this heaviness inside of me, I allowed it to wrap around my soul, to permeate my spirit.  I cried.  I released.  And after, I brought in happy memories.  I was immobile and yet I was in the process.

              Tomorrow or the next day or the one after that I will pass through this again, but it will be less intense.  When that happens, I will remind myself of being, of experiencing, of living.

peacock
A great example of being in the moment.

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Living, Being

  1. Grief is an interesting thing; April cycles around again, and I have important anniversaries of loss. Last Tuesday was the 15th anniversary of my Mom’s death, and a week from Monday is the anniversary of Chris’s death. I’ve had some other deaths in my life recently, and these anniversaries seem more poignant.

    I was also at the beach last week, and respected the roiling ocean too much to get my toes in. I hope to go again soon. I really need Vitamin Sea.

    1. Mentioning the ocean and grief together brought this idea to mind:
      our cycles of mourning are similar to tides, some stronger than others, all cleansing and moving and timeless. We splash along like the waves, soft or loud, rambunctious or calm. The feelings are never gone, neither are the tides. They just change.

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