In some future “now”-moment—a moment as real as this present one—your life will end.
Are you ready for that? Are you ready for your death?
Are you ready for the death of your children, your parents, your friends?
Have you loved fully and given your deepest gifts? Have you addressed the part of you that holds back, that is tense, insecure, unfulfilled, that craves safety and security?
A life that is being well-lived embraces death by being open, from heart to all, in every moment. Wide open, you are able to offer freely without holding back, and you are able to receive freely without pushing away. Wide open, heart and all, you are openness, unseparate from this moment. Every part of you and this moment comes and goes as openness.
Right now—and in every “now”-moment—you are either closing down or opening up. You are either waiting stressfully for something—more money, more security, more affection—or you are living from your deep heart and opening yourself to this entire moment and giving what you most deeply desire to give, without waiting, without reservation.
If you are waiting for anything in order to live and love without holding back, then you are wasting this moment of your life and causing yourself needless suffering.
This moment is the most important moment of your life. No future or more favorable moment is better than now for you to let down your guard and open and love.
Right now you are choosing either to open and give fully or you are waiting and holding back. Feel your heart beating in your chest. Feel your belly. Feel your jaw. Are they tense and clenched and knotted? Or are they relaxed and open and free?
How does your choice feel?
How would you live if you were fearless? How would you live if you lived your life as an expression of your deepest heart and as love’s means?
(David Deida, abridged and adapted from his book “Blue Truth,” pp. 3-7)
“Affirmation” – Donald Hall
To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.