Real Life

It is those who are dying who have the most to teach about living. They know that days are numbered, that "here and now" is all we really have and that this life is about to end, leading to.... what? That proximity to mystery forces questions of priority, of what really matters. They are the ones I listen to now. All that ephemeral blather about climbing and fighting and winning I see now for what it is: shrill and frenetic distraction. The utter absence of heart and forgiveness leaves me hungry for something substantial. What is substantial is paying attention, which is a form of love, to everything that I get to enjoy -- a frosty beer, a sunset, wind in my face on a bike ride, writing this blog post. When I see something as possibly the last thing, the curtain pulls back and the real world of it's-all-a-one-off  comes into view. It is a feast my friends, a banquet that I didn't see before. And there is a song carried by wind and light, running through everything that is, a song that permeates even the thickest of skulls. But I have to listen, get quiet enough to discern the melody, the one that teaches the truth of how things are, which is, by the way, an ongoing gift, a wave, an infusion of welcome home to the me that is also you.