In her Presence

Gordon put down his pen. He was weary. He had never felt this kind of tired before. Not only was his body exhausted, his mind was too tired to even wander and he felt nothing—nothing but a deep, dark impulse to disappear altogether. Tests had been done and he knew the results already, without hearing them from his specialist. He knew he was dying. He had known for a while now. He knew because he couldn’t dream any further. He couldn’t imagine a future. When he sat down to meditate, he felt nervous and anxious. He couldn’t shake the exhaustion or the growing panic that his end was inevitable. He didn’t dream anymore. He didn’t want to. A force beyond his control was calling him. He called out to the one he called The God of Death and asked, “When?” Strange as it was, the God of Death answered him and told him.

“I will come for you on July 26th.”

So that’s the date of my death. “Why do I know the date of my death?” he asked The God of Death.

“You know because you asked me. No one ever does.”

Could he believe it? Could he believe that his death was coming in three months?

“Could I ask you, God of Death, for one more thing?”

The God of Death studied the dying man and reported, “I don’t give extensions, if that is what wanted ask for.”

“Can I ask you, how am I to live, knowing I don’t have much time left?”

Death chuckled. “I would say live it wisely by throwing all caution away.” Death turned his back on him and disappeared like ashes blown in the wind.

Gordon skipped his appointment with the specialist. He waited for an impulse to come. His weariness caused him to fall into a deep, long nap. He dreamt that he was practicing his death, that he couldn’t return to his body. He was swept away into the deeper realms of his mind, a mind full of ideas, images, and scenes that bore no familiarity. He didn’t know where he was or what his point of view was. Everything was different, unfamiliar. He felt panicked and wandered in his mind, not recognizing his own thoughts anymore. He woke up panicked, his heart was racing too fast and too hard. He lay there in a sweat. His first impulse came to him. He thought, I need to know where I am. His heart returned to its normal rhythm. He got up, washed his face and hands. Where am I? he asked himself. Where will I be going? he asked himself. He thought of his impending death. He could feel the panic and fear arise in his chest. He wasn’t ready or capable of proceeding past the fear of his death, so he stopped his inquiry and thought about how he would live the final three months of his life. Was he a satisfied man? Had he lived up to his dreams?

Was he a man of regrets? Did he blame others for his failure? He thought of his life and knew that whatever kind of life he had lived, he wouldn’t be able to own it much longer. How is it that my life will no longer be my own? he asked himself. If I don’t own my life, is there another place I can belong to? he wondered. He didn’t know how to think about his life if it was not his own. If it were taken away, how can my identity, which is wrapped up in my life, be real? He felt small in the bigger picture of identity disappearing. The disappearance of all he knew, of himself as Gordon, could not be approached and faced through thinking about it. That only caused his mind to tremble and panic. He knew he could only approach the bigger picture of where he is located through surrender. But how does one surrender when the body is crashing and the mind is trembling? How can I surrender in such a frightening circumstance?

Everyone will die. My death is just one in the billions and billions of deaths that have already occurred. I know when my death is coming. I can prepare for it, he thought. Will that help me to be ready, to surrender willingly to it without panic and fear? Would he plan for his death in the usual ways—take care of all the practicalities of disposing of his belongings and his body? He remembered what The God of Death had told him: Live it wisely by throwing all caution to the wind. I will live without a plan, he thought. I will surrender to whatever comes. I will not plan, I will meet whatever comes as a friend, as a friend to my life. I will meet death as my friend. Could he learn to accept death as a friend to his life, not its enemy? Could he surrender to the loss and chaos that would be the loss of his life? Could he really be that brave? Is a plan not to plan—a plan? a plan after all?

He ate, he slept as needed. He waited to feel something. He waited and watched to be drawn into an experience, to be able to act. He wanted to know where to go and what to do. He watched his thoughts and saw that the terror of his extinction lay behind each thought. Usually, he didn’t feel this terror, as his desires had propelled his life to take actions. But now, he waited for a desire, any desire, to move him into life. A week went by in this way—terror of his death was all he could feel. He wanted to medicate himself out of this terror, to successfully hide it beyond his thoughts and desires, well buried in the background. He resisted drinking and smoking weed. He watched a lot of television as his medication. He paced and stumbled and often slept to escape himself. On the eighth day he grabbed his keys, got into his car and drove. He had no destination in mind. He sang to his favorite playlist of songs. He wasn’t sure if he was ever coming back. I’m at the point of no return, he thought. Where can I go? He drove and sang the songs on his playlist for hours. He fell asleep at the rest area and woke up at sunset and drove all night. He was now in another state as well as another state of mind. He felt calm and he wondered if having no place he belonged helped him to steady his nerves and his fear. He drove for three more days and on the third day he knew he was driving to see her again.

He had heard of her death, an accidental one many years ago. He had always thought of the world as having her in it, and when she died in her early forties, and he was married to his second wife, he saw the news of her death on a social media site. He felt a piece of himself disappear—a possibility of their love being lived and shared, snuffed out. He shared his grief with no one. He had always felt they would eventually find their way back to each other and that would be the best times of their lives. When his marriage ended and he knew he could never be with her, he no longer tried to fill his desires in the arms of another. He had no one to take care of, as he had no children. He thought he liked it that way. He thought that being bound to someone ended up in a loss of freedom and at times, personal dignity. He hadn’t thought about her in years. He recalled her as a vibrant woman in her early thirties. He would never know her as an aged woman. They would not age gracefully together, or even apart. She would not know and live the many years of the decline of the body. She would be forever fresh, a young and maturing woman in his mind. He sorely missed her and felt a longing and an ache for her that he could not understand, but he was grateful that this longing of unfulfilled love was a stronger sensation than his constant companion of terror, his death.

He turned off the freeway, heading for the small, wooded town where he had last seen her over thirty years ago. He got himself a room in a small hotel and lay on the bed feeling his longing for her consume him. It was becoming a force, so strong and potent, an ache and longing that could never be realized and united in life. And yet he wanted to surrender to it, and as he did, it met him and surrendered him even beyond the fear of his death, and even beyond his life. He was losing himself, his self-enclosed identity, his thoughts were not his own, his life was not his own. He allowed all of himself to be given to her and he passed out of his life united in her, without the terror of losing himself. The God of Death watched Gordon leave his life and lose himself in her.

“Ah, this one, this guy is meant for her,” and he tipped his cane and hat to the Goddess. He called out, “He is ahead of schedule, he had more time left.”

The Goddess laughed and said, “We are making up for lost time.”

Gordon didn’t know who he was. He knew where he was. He lived in Her, with or without a life. This was the plan all along. How could anyone plan for it?

A Minor Event: my death and my life

What was this strange sound? It was thunderous! I opened my eyes. I didn’t know where I was or what I was. A sound rose up from my throat. It was a wailing, a cry of deliverance, a cry of terror and relief. From the room of bright light, I emerged into a space of tiny proportions. From a limitless radiance to a room entered through a dark tunnel, I felt confined. I cried out, “How can this be?” My words only sounded like a bleating noise. I was drawn close. I felt the warmth of skin on skin. I sensed a nurturing call and my head was moved towards it. I was helpless and my radiance began to be pushed into a body and I was dismayed. Why did I take birth?

The Goddess appeared as a reassurance in all her radiance. How I loved her radiance.

“It’s time to take birth,” she reminded me.

“Another one?” I asked. “Must I?”

She laughed, “You always do this, every time you enter embodiment.”

“Every time?” I teased her back. She nodded. “What will I do in this life?” I asked.

“Oh, that reminds me, I must implant you with your work, and the events of your life.” Swirling discs the size of tiny seeds flew into the air, landed on me, and merged into the deeper recesses of my body and mind.

“It’s all there?” I asked.

“Yes, there is important work for you to do here.”

“How will I find my way?”

She laughed a big hearty laugh and said, “You always do.”

I reached towards my mother’s nipple. “One last question, will you always be with me even when it feels like you aren’t, even when I forget you and your existence as my very own heart and radiance?”

“Even then,” she assured me.