Ride, Beautiful

 

            We are the things we know. We are every book that we have ever read and every song that we have sung. We are our favourite television program and the movie we just saw on the weekend. All the people that we have met and each conversation we have had are part of our makeup. What you gather from these things becomes a portion of who you are. You are the smell of fall in the air and the snowflake falling softly to the ground. You are the sun you see and the stars that shine and the breaking dawn. You are what you eat and you are what you speak. You are the words that are spoken to you. You are your family and your friends, your mother and your father and your spouse. You are your enemy and your champion. You are the stranger you gave change to on the street and the child you tuck into bed at night. You are what you think and feel and reject. You are a collection, the sum of everything you have experienced. You are what you acknowledge and what you have learned. You are the totality of all things that have met you in this life. 

            It's no wonder people seem to be so screwed up. There appears to be more violence, apathy and disregard than I can ever remember. Perhaps the rise in population explains it. On some statistical level, there just seems to be more chaos. There are just far too many people in this world where we live. It is hard to find your way when you are constantly battling the masses for air. All the hate, all the anger, all the senseless selfish existing we do, they are part of us as well. We are a mixture, an ever-evolving, ever-growing mass of this and that. When we hurt, we are. When we love, we are. Every second, every moment, from the time you wake in the morning to the last flicker as you fade to rest, each contact, every dream makes up more of you. The hopeless, the priceless, the pretty and the sour, these are the things that prove we are alive.

            I have learned to pay attention to the things that cross my path on a daily basis. I am aware of where I am, who I meet each day and any interaction I may have with someone else. I am all the good and all the bad and all the ugly. Some may claim I am awake, or enlightened, or whatever, but the truth is I just don't want to miss a thing. I refuse to allow a moment to pass me by without at least trying to catch it. I am constantly watching and observing this life. This transformation from a once dull bulb into something slightly brighter came at quite a cost. I evolved because I adapted. The amalgam of all my experience turned me into something else, someone else. The milestones from our lives tend to build into higher walls. Each supporting the other until we feel that we are safe. We are the sum of our benchmarks, not to note them, but to live better because of them. To find beauty in the ugliness, peace in the chaos and God in all the hate is the only way I have learned to have some semblance of happiness. I am convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that life is beautiful. 

            I had always loved my Mother deeply, but I had never taken the chance to tell her in good time. It took her almost dying to open my eyes. Long before the breast cancer and that fatal heart attack, we almost lost her back in the mid 1980s. She herself talked about the shadowy Reaper who stood in the doorway of her ICU room. When she finally was able to return home, my notions of her began to change. I suppose that the idea of losing her was a catalyst for me to take notice. We spent hours on the phone talking, almost daily. We would sit and play cribbage on a hot summer afternoon. We laughed, we cried, then we laughed right from the start again.  Although we had always been close, a friendship formed. It was unique. It was special. It was the only way I could get past the idea of eventually losing her for good. I pulled her closer, I made an investment. I took the time to take her to Costco or made daytrips just to see her face. With every encounter over the last years leading up to her death, I catalogued my Mother. She now rests as a part of me. 

            It was important for me to have no regrets when it came to my Mom. The same instinct drives me still regarding my Father. Both their stories are significant to me. They will always be part of this wonderful universe and I was privileged to share some of their time here with them. I try to view the world around me in the same manner. I don't just see something, I look at it. This art of observation would not have been had I not known my Mother. It was through the fear of losing her that I discovered  the joy of seeing in the now. At the end of every day, I still think of her. Sometimes I use the city lights to look upon her face, framed for goodnight. Her challenges, her death taught me so much, but only because I was listening. One of the most important milestones of my life was realizing that I can see God the very same way. I suppose one might say that when one door flew open, all the windows did too!

            I have not failed to notice my sensitivities. I have moments of such bliss when I am frozen in place. Through years of trial and error, I have finally reached a plateau where I know that everything will be okay in the long run. I will be okay, whatever comes. Life used to be a lonely thing for me, an ache that never went away. These days, I am overflowing. It is everywhere. It is the moon, the dust and the spider, twirling and spinning in a cosmic display. We are all a part of this vast unknowable, also tumbling around but only by chance. When I stop myself and I focus, I can feel the world alive around me. My eyes have been opened. All the things that I had been looking for were right here with me all along. I started to pay attention to the people in my life, then I started to pay attention to my life. Like rapids, harsh and strong and flowing, one moved into another until the entire spectrum of it all found me. At dead centre, no matter how I didn't want to see, I discovered those things most Holy. I recognized that God is the underlying consciousness that binds all reality. I am not a Deist, but I have come to understand that God speaks to us through the things we know. It is not only through pages, or voices from up high. The words are mostly silent so you must train yourself to hear them. You must train yourself to listen.

            Every person on this planet, every rock, all the cosmos are but a collective, a forward moving mass of energy, matter and darkness. We are one, I suppose. This is why it is so important to experience as much as you can while you can. We need to stop and take the time. It is only how we love that really matters. Life is fleeting and I for one don't want to miss a thing. Every tear I cry, every moment of laughter is a tiny part of something greater than what we can know. Every person's story, their mere existence, makes them unique and special, no matter how their pages read. From a tiny fly on the window pane to the death of my Mother, all things ebb and flow into each other. Each moment of the pain, all of the splendor blend together at the heart of it all. Every moment, every second of existence cries out that there is more. There is more to find in moments like this. Being aware of the world around you is an open door to the universe. There is no limit to what you might uncover. If God speaks to us through the things we know, then He is part of the things we know. He is waiting to be discovered, to show you that you don't need permission to be happy. You are supposed to have love and to be free. It's okay to make mistakes. You are allowed to hurt, to think and to scream. It is okay to  have enemies and to hate on occasion. Stop and smell the roses or cry yourself to sleep, but there is no need for us to be downtrodden. This universe flows through us. Even God is within. There need be no fear, no cause; there is so much more to this world than what we know. Take it all in. You can take it fast or you can take it slow, but either way life is a ride, beautiful.

             I think the only thing that got me through the death of my Mother I had already set in place years before. I wasn't ready but I was prepared. I made an effort to be not only a good son but also a friend and confidant. I spent time with her. I made an investment. You could argue that her cancer scare the year before her death drove my commitment, but I had been applying myself for years to this pleasure. The last moment I spent with her still lingers in my mind. The memory of her lifeless form on that cold table continues to haunt me when I let it. She is a finite story only she can write and a mixing of sadness and joy at the thought of her. The words "I miss you" cannot convey the pain that I hold deep inside. I could not bear it any other way. I have to tell myself how lucky I was. I remind myself how much less this life would have been without her and how lovely she made my way. When I need her, when the emptiness comes for me, I can hold it and save it for another time. I remember. For a moment, we were here together.

             Between the coming 12 year anniversary of her death on April 29, 2022 and Covid-19, I find these days solemn and at the same time disturbing. I wonder what my Mom would have thought of this whole coronavirus pandemic. I just know she would not have worn a mask, for medical reasons. I believe social distancing would have been something she excelled at. I'm sure her quiet life that led to her death would feel the same for her. There would be little difference but for the fear. So I sit day after day, mask in hand just in case. I wish she was with me even though that is a selfish thing for me to want. I have to remember she was here and I was part of her life no matter its ending. In the end, if that's the best we can hope for then it's better than nothing. 

 

Photo

 http://www.coachingwithmelissa.com/blog/2015/9/22/fall-into-change-take-a-deep-breath-and-lets-start-our-journey-together