“…when we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings.” ― Sogyal Rinpoche
It’s been ten months since I last saw her alive. It’s been exactly a year since her last birthday. She was sick then, could hardly breathe. Listening to her music reminds me of her breath. It was always a struggle for her to breathe freely, openly. It’s no walk in the park feeling obligated to a life caring for a mentally ill mother. I would watch her live vicariously through her mothers wildly naked choices. Naked wasn’t a wardrobe choice for her mother, it was a thoughtless pursuit of finding herself. I suppose it’s always easier to look for a needle when there is no hay. Her mother looked, and looked…and looked. She never did find anything. Maybe that was the point, to find her self in the deepest part of the forest. My friend however, was handed this obligation, this struggle, her mother, and she observed. She cared for her. She analyzed it all over and over again, until her years of tears made her sick. She found too much. Her death was slow, long, debilitating. Her mother’s death, not too long after, was quick but I can’t imagine less debilitating. And I, we, look back at all of it, searching for clarity. I think the only thing we can do is love those around us, a little bit more. Continue to sympathize with those that struggle. Such a fragile, precious life, for all of us.
(i’m writing something about this subject, in depth, and not so enigmatic. this note is more of a way of processing, externalizing something so….well, internal.)