I often wish I weren’t so aware of the temporal nature of things. Since I am also aware that my announcing to random people that we’re all going to die soon (some of us sooner than others) doesn’t exactly nominate me for life of the party, it seems I have to…what?
We are all going to die soon, some of us sooner than others.
Maybe it’s just that every ending is a kind of death, and in me lives a desire to hold on, to make everything last, to say, as Galway Kinnell says in The Book of Nightmares, “…to let nothing of you go, ever.”
This week my Tuesday night Beginning Meisner class ended (a particularly great class), then my Co-Directing at Stoneham Theatre ended on Thursday (though I just returned from seeing a performance I didn’t direct), and tonight yoga teacher training ended.
I want to hold onto gold, and nothing gold can stay.
Galway Kinnell holds the preciousness of his children up against mortality, and sighs his love with images from the bible, from nightmares…and the ultimate nightmare is death, looming up out of the future, or often, in my case, out of the past.
I fought with myself on the mat in yoga teacher training, and I loved the philosophy sessions, and I learned, and I got better, and without my noticing it, this peace I have been cultivating deepened. Yes, I still love to sound off, tongue in cheek, but I am serious about peace, and about learning what it might mean to die consciously, to let go, to get a grip in the face of what we all fear, to find courage.
Every ending is a reminder of all the endings that I am still trying to finish, to be done with, to grieve. So that I may shed the chaff, and lean into peace, even when it looks like pain, or grief, or loss itself. That I may lean in, and not away, my heart open, willing to be hurt, willing to feel it, the bittersweet, the loving so much, the knowing of the temporal, which is life.
I wish the cast of Prom metta, wherever they go, every day, every hour, whenever they can find it, and wherever they can’t.
I wish the new yoga teachers the yoga they know now, and the yoga they don’t, the finding of purusa, of samadhi.
And I hope my Meisner students return, soon, because I am not done with them, and I hope they are not done with me.
And Don. The powerlessness. And the knowing…that he’s here. I can feel the kindness of him as I write this. I know it isn’t too deep for him, even though he’d probably say, “Wow.” Then he’d pause, and tell me about his brother, some of the same story he’d told me before, but with something new, and deeper. May I never forget, may I feel him, in me, in memory, in everything he’s left behind.
Opening my heart to 3 endings in one week, and this death, this year.
Metta for me. May I be at peace with what is. May I stay alive, cultivating peace and opening, opening, opening. To the truth of the world, not as I want it to be, ending after ending, but to what it is, itself, sometimes slightly knowable, after all.