Life is too short, my friends. Don’t waste it on auto pilot – wondering what might happen TO you today. Live each moment as if someone is waiting at your door, whispering questions and gently unfolding maps into new territory.
It was really interesting, yesterday, to talk with Franklin Taggart during his Reset Podcast. In retrospect, this experience itself reminded me of some old patterns I’d like to reset; some lines I wish I had a second chance to say or live differently. The timing for our discussion was perfect for me. If you’ve been following my blog you know I’ve been thinking about a reset for the woman in my mirror.
Lately, not only I, but several of my friends have talked about watching Death show up on the door steps of people we care about. I’ve caught myself following old, unhealthy patterns of dealing with aching sadness and a total lack of control. So, now I’m wondering out loud: Shouldn’t I revisit the ways I’ve fallen into dealing with frequent, painful loss?
Taggart states: “A reset begins when we slow down, let our minds settle, and we open ourselves to an infinite resource of wisdom, freedom and creativity.” I know, I know . . . any such whispers for a new beginning, circling within the chaos of difficult change and loss, are really hard to hear. Still, I think I owe to my one life to at least listen and consider.
Last month, Death visited poet, Mary Oliver. Though her elegant words, rich images and natural ideas will live on in a myriad of ways, her strong and spirited presence now graces a different plane. At the Pathways (Hospice) Remembrance Service this past week, Mary Oliver’s poem, “The Summer Day” was read, setting the stage for a wonderfully grace-filled message delivered to the mourners in the room. The last part of the poem goes like this:
. . .
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention,
how to fall down into the grass,
how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
Oh, the significant gravity, the wisdom, of those last two lines: a grace-whispered question meant for each of us who still lives and serves and loves life and others in it.
Life doesn’t just happen to us. We’re meant to participate, to co-create how we live . . . and
love . . . travel new pathways . . . welcome new visitors at our door . . . say goodbye . . . remember others . . . and face our own ending.
Life is too short, my friends, to let your one life simply unfold without the wisdom of important questions.
Every day, whether you’re on auto pilot, deliciously happy or in deep pain, take the time to ask yourself:
Today, what do I want for my one wild and precious life?