Exit or Entrance?
(a look from The Other Side)
Some time back, I quoted Yoda from a Star Wars movie as he cautioned Anakin Skywalker about, what else, fear. In this case, the fear of losing a loved one to death.
"... death is a natural part of life -- rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force."
All teachings, however ancient, however venerated, however impeccable in appearance, must be carefully scrutinized. We are moving through endless space. Everything must change, including how we perceive life, and ourselves in it. Teachings that sound good may be so simply because they are old and time-worn. They feel comfortable, but are they true for "me" today? Are they the kind of power I wish to wield if I am to make a positive impact upon a world?
What if death is not a natural part of life? What if the ancients were wrong in accepting it so easily? Or, what if they knew that death was but a difficult passage through the darkness and that it was possible for those equipped with the proper credentials, to emerge from that darkness into a new light? What if death is what we make of it with our thoughts towards it? What if death is as much a matter of choice as choosing beer over a glass of water?
Anyone can become addicted to the one; who becomes addicted to drinking water? Water is a more natural drink than beer. We are addicted to death, not life. Our useless efforts to stay alive are not because we enjoy life, but because we fear death. We fear the pain we know accompanies it. We fear the loss. We fear the physical deterioration. We fear abandoning our bodies to the grave or the fire. I've seen stoicism in those approaching death. Seldom have I seen joy, either in the one leaving or those remaining.
Why is that?
One more thing. All our systems, including the great concept we call "time" are geared to the fact that we will end up dead. No great system would survive if we stopped dying! What does that bit of logic say? What if it says that death was invented by these great systems so they would have eternal life from our endless pain?
Lots of what if's... Good ones to ponder as we walk the last steps towards the door into a new year. Will it be a good year? Will we come out of that one alive? How many will not? How many close to us? We will go about wishing each other health and prosperity. Will we stop to think about what we are saying? We can wish -- can we make it happen? Can we drop our addictive subservience to the great Powers and look beyond their sphere of control?
Maybe wishing someone good health and prosperity goes deeper than the good life on earth? Maybe it is a way to tell them that they are free to seek fulfillment in other places, in other ways? Maybe Yoda is right when he continues: "Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not... train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."
I offer another short story to illustrate this point. Written some time ago (with minor alterations) it does carry the mark of my upbringing within the Christian faith. I don't apologize for that because true Christian faith can never be tainted by religion. It is something one is by what one does. It always goes back to the basic principles enunciated by Jesus in the gospels. If it does not do that, it is, vernacularly put, BS. As is just about every aspect of organized religion, regardless of the god or saviour it proclaims.
In the original Spirit of Christmas, a story, perhaps a parable…
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Exit Or Entrance?
(A Short Story by Sha'Tara)
He knew this would be the last day. His eyes wandered past the window to the outside world. Light clouds floated in a deep blue sky, gulls soared: Life! He sighed, turning to the still form on the bed. How quickly the disease had ravaged her body and dashed all their hopes! First, the diagnosis, then the loss of the baby, then the pneumonia. She never had a chance. He had accompanied her through it all, from specialists, to treatment clinic, to hospital. Now at the end, exhausted, beyond hope, beyond anger, beyond even despair, he searched for meaning.
An agnostic, Jerry didn't understand the strange power that had sustained Karen through the entire ordeal. The sudden illness, loss, and approaching death had seemed a strange, confusing experience to her, not the terror that had haunted him. Granted, there hadn't been much time to think, to rage, to indulge in self-pity; only constant adjustments to the unexpected. The bad news followed so quickly, she just bounced between the shocks. She cried only once: when the baby died.
He mused, "If I believed, would it have made a difference? Was there a way I didn't see? When we hiked together and sang, laughing to the echo of our voices in the mountains, we never doubted that life was ours to last: did we trust in lies? Is this an exit... or an entrance? Can anyone know?"
She moaned and moved slightly, opening her eyes. Bending over her, hoping she would whisper something to remember, to hold on to, he gazed into the gentle eyes reflecting a soul filled with love and life. “Yes honey?”
With the last of her waning strength she reached out. He held her emaciated fingers gently. She blinked her eyes. He had to kneel down beside her bed to catch her words.
She whispered, "It's both an exit and an entrance, Jerry. I've seen it. Everything's OK..." A long pause, then, "Don't grieve anymore, please. Go find your life again and set us both free. I love you. I will always love you..."
Her hand went limp; her eyes closed halfway: she was gone.
The empty feeling he had expected didn't materialize. Despite the impossible, he felt lighter, happier, as if a great burden had somehow been lifted from his shoulders. He straightened and looked out the window. The sky had turned a rose-pink of early sunset. The gulls were now flying in a single direction, swift, purposeful.
One rose from the rooftop of the hospital and after performing a graceful loop before the window, joined the others.
"I understand now. Yes! I really do! Everything has its own reason and purpose‑-everything. Thank you, Karen...!"
He pressed the buzzer summoning the duty nurse and walked out into the sunlight: he had an appointment to keep -- an appointment with life.
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