I came across a book by Rumi in the afternoon after I went to say goodbye to my grandmother.
I picked it up and opened it right to this page:
It told the story of my last few weeks. Facing not only death in the family, but also personal illness and the fears that came with it.
And not just death, but coming to terms with the purpose of my life. Seeing what I have been through, and knowing what truly matters to me.
I’ve been wanting to speak the truth about myself and my life but I’ve been afraid for so long.
I was ready to tell
the story of my life
but the ripple of my tears
and the agony of my heart
wouldn’t let me”
The past few weeks I’ve been only too conscious of my own mortality and that of others. Seeing this, I started to write. To speak and to share what I’ve held close all these years.
I began to stutter
saying a word here and there
and all along I felt
as tender as a crystal
ready to be shattered”
I’ve had many nightmares, faced many demons, had so many little (ego) deaths along the way.
And now my worst fears (at least for my personal health) have mostly passed.
Though the panic is gone
I am now offended
why should I be so helpless
rising with one wave
and falling with the next”
But I leave the shadow of death gratefully, because I’ve found there was a message for me there.
Now how can I be
a skeptic
about the
resurrection and
coming to life again
Since in this world
I have many times
like my own imagination
died and
been born again.”
I feel humbled, grounded, released from burdens no longer necessary. And ready to carry my truth forward into the light.
