It’s 2AM and I’m just starting:. My last cup of coffee for the day, and my first blog entry in months. There’s a storm coming, and in less than eight hours, I’ll be riding in a friend’s car on the way to Hampton Beach, NH, to enjoy the fray.
An web acquaintance, dg, presented this gem recently in her blog. She mentions an article about an old man who died far away, but it might just as well be describing me as the mummified one.
Anyway, it just so happens that earlier today, around the time of the first cup from the first pot of coffee, I wrote an e-mail to an old dear friend that went like this:.
Today I am fighting with the phone company (I hate authority) and pleading with the weakest of all possible champions?state government?to intercede on my behalf. I fantasize of other interventions; there is something to be said for learning how to fly and not how to land. But the truth is that it probably doesn’t matter at all. It is not about getting a good internet connection, and it’s not about them being wrong, even if they are. It’s about letting go and entering the flow, like a red leaf drifting down on the crystal surface of a mountain stream. This is life, and while many bitter circumstances seek to exclude, many others are waiting for me, urging me to go another way, offering to include me with them in an entirely different thing.
Death is really not so bad (not that I know, for sure, but I have a beneficient suspicion). I mean, there’s separation and loss, and so on. But there is a place to go, also. Even if I have to relinquish all claim to whatever identifies me as me—my body, my personality, my talents, my diseases—and go on from death as nothing more than food for worms, that is still a place, and far be it from me to disparage any other dimensions, places which I may well have enjoyed before, precious experiences which have merely slipped from my mind of this moment.