It is this inner-turning, this place inside that wonders why speak at all. As if it's been an act all these years. Writing. Having a voice. Trying to find something to say. To feel that creative power - but maybe - to feel it for all the wrong reasons.
It isn't that I’m old. But death seems to be hanging around a lot these days. Nothing sinister or frightening. Just visiting - like an old friend. An autumn shadow in the midst of brilliant blue skies, sun-golden leaves - with a slight chill on the breeze. Reminding me to not forget how temporary it all is.
We only accomplish a few things in this life, really. Maybe if we're lucky we learn a few lessons. Perhaps - we touch a few hearts. And no matter what we collect along the way - friends, enemies, awards, insults, a tiny cottage, a gold and diamond ring- at some point, there is a shadowed angel that comes along and taps us on the shoulder. It's time to go.
And the soul leaves it all behind, like a child leaving school for the summer holidays. Joyful, expectant, the burden of books and learning abandoned in the school yard. We learned it, or not. We passed, or failed, or something in between. Whatever the experience is or was - our time here in human form is so very very finite. And one day, we will move on.
Perhaps what I'm feeling inside these days is partly the death of ambition. When I was younger - I used to dream all these dreams about my life. And now I am experiencing a kind of twilight of the ego - where I can look back, remember the dreams, see what actually happened and smile. Looking ahead to the next 30-40 years of my life, I realize that there are no more dreams left. Whatever has happened in my life – has happened. And I am grateful for all that I've experienced, for all that I've learned. Whatever fruits are on this vine of mine will ripen slowly. If I can spend the rest of my life loving my friends, writing when the spirit moves me, studying the Guru, meditating, practicing, eating, sleeping, taking care of my home, seeing a bit of the world from time to time - well - that’s enough for one life. Isn’t it?
Several months ago, a friend of mine called and told me he'd decided to remove my blog from his bookmarks. Why? I asked. Because you never write anything - he told me. Blogs are for people who write every day. Or every few days.
Not someone who writes every few months.
I guess I am behind the times.
But you know - if I spend the time writing, and you spend the time reading, I would rather it is a meaningful experience for both of us.
You can forget me for a while. And then we'll meet again - when it's time. When there's something to say that really matters.
Or you can visit the old posts, the old words - and just be with me in silence. Because real love doesn't need any words. Whether we've met or not. Whether we'll ever meet. Between hearts. Between souls. Real Love is Wordless. Real Love is Deathless.
So perhaps along with my old friend death, I am remembering my true friend, Love. The friend that makes death so easy to endure.
We are all of us in this together - for all eternity. No matter what shape we take. No matter what world or form or relationships we find ourselves in. We are all in this together. We keep going, keep evolving, keep growing - reinventing ourselves, trying something new, leaving behind what was. And the experience of death is part of that. But we never leave behind the Love. From lifetime to lifetime, that Love is a power through which we will find each other - over and over and over again. Forever.
Items on Ek Ong Kaar Kaur’s To Do List for the Winter:
1. Learn how to prune rose buses – so I can take proper care of the two old rose bushes outside my kitchen window.
2. Get rid of the tumble weeds around the house.
3. Plan a garden for the spring. What flowers and herbs to plant?
4. Pray for snow.
5. Have lots of tea/movie nights at my house with my friends.
6. Keep translating/writing/studying/teaching/practicing – all those spiritual things that seem to be the axle that turns the wheel of my life.
7. Keep warm.
All Love in the Divine,
Ek Ong Kaar Kaur