Francis Thompson wrote, “For we are born in other’s pain, / And perish in our own.” Edward Young wrote, “Our birth is nothing but our death begun.” Francis Bacon: “What then remains, but that we still should cry / Not to be born, or being born, to die?” The first sentence of Vladimir Nabokov’s Speak, Memory is: “The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.” (From: The Thing About Life is One Day You'll Be Dead--David Shields)
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My year has been filled with emotional insights. Expectations have crashed with reality, experiences have collided with dreams, and my perception of ME has evolved. The grace of living has made me thankful. I breathe with fulfillment. The sun rises and I rise.
So many of my generation seek spirituality...but I've waited. Fearful. I'm growing out of the fear and into that woman who can seek a spirit beyond herself yet within me waiting to be felt.
I get to turn 50. I will celebrate my good fortune to have felt 50 years of life! And I want to feel 50 more. My kind of existence is heaven-like in comparison to so many suffering in this world. I appreciate it, I honor it, I want to live in a fashion that pays homage to the gift of life I've been given.
If, as it says above, that my life is "but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness," I want my eyes to burn looking at the sun until the last second before it sets.
50
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