Death

The body intelligence is the name of this bit of writing; best that could be for the moment, this day and time. Anyway . . .

The flu! The wretched thing! Seems a few years now since even a head cold entered my bodily private domain. Yet, it gives time for writing, contemplating and if my energy holds up later maybe even painting (pastel artwork). Sometimes, however, it can be good to practice death. No, this isn’t me being overly dramatic—just listen a moment. You can’t turn from it even though you would rather not be anywhere in its shadows, yet inevitably the body will shut down sense organs one after another. NO wait, don’t stop reading. Because oh, but what a gift close encounters, even if they are not our very own (family, friend or foe who may be sick or in a phase of transition—but no, let’s say the really scary word, death!) . . . like I was saying, any encounter with the endpoint from any distance offers us a gift if we keep our eyes open! What gift? Embracing the opposite of course – Life! A deeper and more joyful appreciation of good health and the ability to do something, anything, which comes from our ‘creative-will’ our personal expression of ‘life’ – even if that is only a pleasant conversation with another. Any expression of being alive on any level that is possible can potentially become a truly joyous event.

The local hospital has accepted me as a volunteer and promoted me to be the top person for patient relations. The job is not as impressive as the title may sound. Actually, it only involves offering a smile, a hello and passing out a card from the auxiliary and offering magazines, newspapers, crossword puzzles and the like.

Yesterday here at home, life played out with chills and fever next to a pile of Kleenex feeling as if my throat was on fire was another glimpse, another close encounter – another good practice for the last page in the last chapter of this life as I know it to be now. And my thoughts wandered to the hospital patients as it does now writing this.

And, of course, as one could expect, with fever back to normal today, am gifted with a deeper appreciation of life and the ability to affect the lives of others and my own in a positive way. To create, to play, to appreciate, to breathe life into this body deeply and with more gratitude for the vehicle that enables my stay here upon the good earth.

People who know me or follow my posts are familiar with the mention of the history of losing consciousness; yep, I’m one of those “fainters”. Physical or emotional overwhelm and out I go! I realize how this is like a mini-death of sorts and one of the last times (in the hospital ER with an acute bladder infection), there was this awesomely peaceful kind of limbo state, vast and not-empty but full somehow. No words can describe it. Voices were calling me back into this world and I did not wish to return. On another occasion, when I lost consciousness due to a gall bladder issue, a “code” was called because I could not be revived after losing consciousness. That time, however, I didn’t recall the blissful openness and fullness as the time before. My point here? Forgive this writer still under the influence of Nyquil cold and flu medicine. Well, I guess, my purpose in writing this has to do with me being grateful for these moments in which the body and I get to practice our final act. Meanwhile, there is a turning toward life with eyes of gratitude.

One final thing. It’s floating around in this woozy head and I’d like to try to grab at it the next time if floats by. Here we go. It has to do with the shutting down part. How to say it? Like yesterday, the focus was deeply inward – the body seemed very busy focusing on itself – dealing with the invader flu. I guess in the death process (oh, this is how the Tibetans tell it and in the Book of The Living and The Dead), how the various bodily senses begin to shut down. The body, I’d assume, is very preoccupied doing this – and there’s not much energy for anything in the external world.

Body intelligence is pretty amazing. Think about it. The body knows how to keep its balance, digest food, breathe – oh, so many things – without your or me consciously telling it to! A good thing too, I’d say! The body knows how to get a spoonful of food into the mouth straight away without us having to give directions—a little to the left, no down a little—in other words, the food doesn’t go into our eye or nose; the body knows what to do without our conscious mind directing. Recovering from illness or shutting down to go into transition, it’s the same way. The body and soul know what to do.

No big summary ending. There’s only me picturing the self in the act of sorting through my pastel colors and placing them in trays according to color and hue. So off I go with my box of Kleenex and a project to do, celebrating life all the way through!

I’ve been watching an HBO show that’s been on AMAZON PRIME. I view it on my TV set using my ROKU device. It’s called IN TREATMENT. In the moment of a recent episode, the shrink asked the young man, “What are you thinking?” The youth replied, “White noise”.

I had to laugh at that one. The laughter of recognition I suppose. My own mind registered that. Not thinking anything really. Yet not being mindful either. I ‘m most aware of that white noise when the decision is made to write. Like now. It’s a rain filled, raw, cold day here in North Carolina. Write, I said.

All levels of me self-agreed to write something. A blog. Here I am. What have I got? White noise just like the kid on the program.

Lately, I’ve thought to try my hand at writing short little Japanese Mindfulness Poems called Haiku which are Japanese poem of seventeen syllables, in three lines of five, seven, and five, traditionally evoking images of the natural world. Cutting written language, relatable to anyone and maybe paradoxical in some way.

Sounds easy. Not so much. You’d think the white noise would help but the instant that pressure is felt to come up with even one word, the mind is suddenly filled with nonsense and resistance. No no, not always, listen . . .

I really like the idea of clipping out a moment that is a pure now moment – a reflection of whatever catches the attention of the psyche.

The other day I sat down on the sidewalk in front of my apartment to experience a moment or two of sunshine. Looking down at the ground before me, there is one pear tree flower all by itself in the dirt–alone and separated from the tree and other flowers on the branch from which it blossomed.

What struck me is that even though it was alone there, its center filaments seemed to still be reaching up toward the sun, the light.

Spring flower in dirt

Alone, apart from its branch, tree

Looks up to the light

My Haiku poem. Is it legit? Well, I guess they’re not really required to rhyme to qualify. Here are a few from one of the supposed greatest Haiku Poets, Basho:

An old silent pond…
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.

Autumn moonlight—
a worm digs silently
into the chestnut.

In the twilight rain
these brilliant-hued hibiscus –
A lovely sunset.

The translations from Japanese to English do not follow the 5, 7, 5 syllable rule. Anyway, none of those rhyme but they do describe the moment in time, a now. Seems a good use of spare time to use Haiku poem writing endeavors to help a person remain aware of their now, mindfulness. I guess you know what I mean, reader, right?

The small flower all alone there just seemed to say to me, “Look, I know that I no longer am connected to the life force upon the earth that sustained me (the tree) and I’m aware that I will soon just become the earth itself, whithering away here. And I know my family of flowers on the branch above me–they are all looking down upon me aware of my fate, but I can still be nourished by the light, the sun. The filaments, the anther, the stamen of me are still reaching up to the light even in my death here and in my departure, the ground here before you where I lay is bringing you some joy and beauty before I disappear completely. ” Looking at the singular flower was my meditation.

After writing those last words my head turned toward the window where I see the tree with all their beautiful white blossoms knowing that soon they will all fall upon the ground as the green leaves push them off their branches. They too will end up in the dirt and on the sidewalk. But they will return next spring to do it all again. There is no death, only transition into yet another phase.