It’s as if all the lights on the tree have gone out save one ~ the brilliant angel at the top. From that one light I can still see the dim outline of our tree, still full, still alive, with its many decorations, the experiences of a lifetime, all still there, glowing like ghosts in the fading light.
Like many of you, I felt sucker-punched by Bourdain’s decision, and I am struggling to make sense of it…to find an emotional shelf to put it on. I do that by wrestling the issue to the ground, a messy process, sometime capturing my work-in-progress thoughts with you, as incomplete as they are.
Little things that make big things. Brush strokes, that make paintings, that have something to teach us.
My Mom, and millions of seniors like her, cannot have a taste of what relieved the suffering of the president of the United States. 1000 years from now, we’ll feel bad about that.
These writings and films open a window onto my personal journey on death. My hope is that by glimpsing through it you will find a blessing, and perhaps, a path to your own treasure.
There are some who, like Ophelia, fall into water and drown, their pale hands frantically waving inches below the glassy surface, as if to grasp the bright world beyond and pull it down around them. Those who breathe air and not water pass by and look, but cannot see what lies beneath.