On the Evening of Her 92nd Birthday

My mother is passing.

I watch her try, half-spirited, to stay awake, present in the room.
Her heartbeat is conspicuously visible on the side of her neck.
I stroke her white hair.
She can keep her eyes open for only a moment, and even then, I suspect she’s asleep.
Her face is still, with no sign of dreams.  Perhaps she experiences something deeper and fuller than dreams:
something that doesn't require intellectual strength or knowledge of any sort known to us;
something that comforts;
something that confirms to her inner self what it’s known forever;
something she won’t remember upon waking, but will not be forgotten;
something that eases her detachment as she steps away from us and toward Other, unknowingly content.
 
I don’t believe God pulls her away. In His unfailing love which we cannot fathom, He simply accompanies her as He always has.

Surely it's only death that can finally remove the veil separating earthbound creation from complete knowledge of Creator...yet, I ponder the fabric of the veil.  Something speaks to me of a veil of many layers. Whether it be an instant or gradual death, will we begin to glimpse with our spirit-selves the incomprehensible mystery while becoming part of it? Because this mystery is inconceivable to the human brain, does our consciousness remain confounded to the last?  Does our brain through its miraculous design grapple with the unknown and begin to dance with the Holy Spirit in a lovely choreography of Here and There?  Is there an intensifying of the Light we've known here? Are there precious visions of those who are there?

 Our souls must fill to the point of bursting with what they learn through the Spirit’s counsel and love as we step into eternal awareness.

 

--bb
*I don't mean to alarm--my mother was indeed only sleeping, if a bit differently to my eye.  She is passing, but has been leaving us for some time now and none of us know how long the good bye will continue.  Every moment is dear to us, as I'm sure it is for you and those you love.

Now

Despite everything

because of everything

I’m here. 

Not merely here, but present in this moment

intentionally present in each as it comes

leaving the last one where it is

and moving on

into now. 

 

Now is where I find contentment and joy. 

Life is most sacred here and God most apparent. 

Unlike my joy, happiness doesn’t dwell here, nor does sorrow. 

They pass through, are passed through, leaving their marks and memories-- 

and all of these,

my realities,

are ingredients of my being. 

Today and every today.

 

Being here is sacred work.

 

bb