Death is a short-term, medium term, and an eternity event. The sense of loss at losing my ability to walk, to run, to bike, to participate in group activities, to get up off of the couch without worrying about permanently damaging what little healing that I have accrued since my surgery last week, has created a new sense of identity, which is, at times when I lapse into unconsciousness, uncomfortable to me right now. After a good lecture from my surgeon yesterday, I realize that I need to take physical healing much more seriously.
Humility has been my companion as of late, and I have been dying to my 25 year accumulated pride in aerobic fitness. I once was a champion in road races ranging from 3.1 miles all the way up to 31 miles (5K to 50K), having run nearly 100 races over the course of my running career, with many top finishes in my age group, as well as all age groups. Also, Sharon and I raced in many Hood to Coast relay races, and I also participated in the 2002 H2C on a Masters’ team, the Time Bandits (this was an over 40 years of age team, and I was 46 years old at the time) that finished 10th out of 1080 teams. Those days are over, and I have “died” to the thought of ever racing again.
As an added memory bonus to all of those running days in the sun, plus several serious sun burns as a kid, are bouts of recurring skin cancer, of both malignant melanoma, and basal cell carcinoma, varieties. So far, I have only lost parts of my upper arm, and (next month) a small part of my left nostril to skin cancer. I certainly would like to “die” to further cancer outbreaks, without losing my body in the process.
Watching the parade of death, through the witnessing of the deaths of lifelong friends, either through the deaths of their bodies, or through mutual neglect and uncaring behavior, watching my father die, even before his body died, watching my friend Marty die, spiritually as well as physically, while witnessing his acceptance of the end through the Death with Dignity process, with heartbreak and gut-wrench watching our two dogs die in our home, one week apart, and now also watching my own body age, while my mind remains young and still adaptive to change, while engaging with the inevitability of death, in all of its sometimes most traumatic of forms, is a humbling, sobering proposition.
I may still walk again, without pain. I may hike again in Nature with Sharon, with, hopefully, minimal pain. I may run again, perhaps with some pain. I may bike again, perhaps with some pain. But, I am living, and I am loving life, though life is redefining my relationship to it right now. My mind remains young, but the body tempts me to think “older” thoughts, thoughts of resignation and defeat, which I have never considered to such degree since the earlier, immature days of alcoholism, drug dependence, and the suicidal thoughts of the 1970’s and 1980’s.
I am my body, yet consciousness itself tells me that I am more than my body. I am dependent upon my body to live, move, and have my being in this world. I love my body, I love this world, I love my life in this world, I love my wife Sharon White, I love what is left of my family, and the few friends that I have left, in this world. Yet, the world, at times, now appears to be pulling away from me. I cling to it at times, yet I also let it go, as well, for conscious, and sometimes unconscious, reasons.
I love life in my body. I also know that there still is life without this body. What I don’t know is if I, or anyone else for that matter, will recognize my life, without my body still being present. The life that I have created, and that life has created for me, leaves me meditating upon what I need to do to keep engaged with this world, while my “vehicle for consciousness” changes, deteriorates, and finally dies.
I am not seeking any answers for the questions of “eternity”. I am living into those answers. I am also living into the answers to the questions about what to do with the my experiences around short-term and medium term “death” that living a life on life’s terms means. Aging, with its potential for disease, sickness, and deterioration are not for the weak at heart. But, they are part of the process for spiritual growth, and enlightenment. Death is an integral part of those processes.
Today I choose the death that continues me on the process of spiritual growth and enlightenment. Today I am dead to the idea that I can take a walk without crutches, and without fear of causing more damage to my body. Today I am dead to the idea that my pain and suffering has significance and meaning to others, especially those who have no interest in my process. Today I am dead to the idea that I know what tomorrow may bring to my body, or to my life. Today I am dead to the idea that I can even make plans for tomorrow, make plans for vacations, make plans to help around the house, and around our yard.
Today I am dead to the idea that I need to know in advance what tomorrow may bring back to me.
Today I remain engaged with the present moment, where the past, and the future, are dead. Today I remain engaged with the part of death that keeps me alive, growing spiritually, and staying open to the mystery of the eternal unfolding of a human life experience.
Today, I am recovering from surgery, and I am physically disabled, though still spiritually whole. Yesterday, and tomorrow are only theories, best left for those who choose to die to this moment.
I choose not to die to this eternal moment. I also have to return back to this moment, each time I frequently forget my choice to remain free and happy.
Please, save yourself
