The post it has taken a year to write

If you catch a fragrance of the unseen,
Like that, you will not be able
to be contained.
You will be out in empty sky.
-Rumi

I posted this bit of Rumi on my Facebook page a little over a year ago. It seemed appropriate as we were close to Halloween, a time when, according to some, including me, the veil between the living and the dead grows thin or even disappears and the ancestors come for a visit. At the time I posted it, I didn't know I was going to get very close to the veil twice within the coming year.

Two or three days later, I found out I had a heart murmur. At the time, it was simply an interesting tidbit of information. Within a week, I was scheduled for surgery to repair an ascending aortic aneurysm. For a long time, I chided myself for being overly dramatic in thinking I'd come close to death. Then in May, I learned my cousin died suddenly from a aortic dissection, something that could have happened to me without the surgery. And I realized maybe I wasn't being overly dramatic after all.

Then there was the fall in Portugal. When I went back to look at the place where I fell, I realized that with a slight alteration in the angle or trajectory of the fall there would have been a much different outcome. Again, I realized how close to the veil I'd been. Maybe not close enough to brush it with  my fingertips, but definitely close.

As I briefly recount these two experiences, I'm overwhelmed by gratitude. I don't believe that things happen for a reason or to teach me something, but that doesn't mean I can't or shouldn't learn from the things that happen. What I have learned and what I believe, is that death is my constant companion. I don't find this morbid or frightening. In fact quite the opposite, I find it liberating. Understanding that death is always with me means I don't have to sit around waiting for it to come, it is always here. I don't have to fear that death is lurking out there somewhere. I can get on with living and not worry about death.

I also don't believe that I survived for a reason. I don't think I lived because I have some grand, spectacular purpose or mission or thing to do. I don't think I lived because I am particularly lucky or blessed either, although I feel lucky and blessed. I feel grateful more than anything else, every single day. More than ever, I know the grace and beauty of the world. Mr. R. says I am bolder, more adventurous.

I believe life is messy, beautiful, chaotic, and full of surprises and mystery. It is also full of pattern, rhythm, shape, and order. Every day, life hands me an invitation to be part of all of this.

This morning I had a dream. I was looking at a beautiful sunset. I wanted to take a picture of the sunset, but I couldn't get it framed, there was always something in the way. But when I looked at the sunset with my own eyes and not through the camera, it was so beautiful. I woke up thinking that beauty can't be captured, but it can and it must be experienced.

I don't know how to end this post. I have no brilliant insight or piece of wisdom to impart. I keep reading this over and over to find the end. I've been thinking about it for too long. Perhaps, there is no end, only open sky.