sunday 11 november 02007 9:11am
death is not

we are, of course, all dying. and we cannot know when that may come. but one of my friends is probably closer than most. she has cancer and her body is winding down. yesterday a recording arrived which i had ordered in order to help me release into the knowledge of how to serve her well in this place.

this morning i wrote about bill and then began the sunday puttering. i poured raw milk into a bowl so that when the cream rises to the top i can skim it off to make butter. i emptied the dishwasher and put some things into the dishwasher. i watered the plant i potted yesterday for jenifer, which is grown from cuttings from my plants. some of mine began a decade ago as cuttings from mandy's plants. i found the sipping spout i've been looking for; it goes to the hummingbird feeder that steve gave me when he was alive, and is more precious now that he has left his body. i looked in the washing machine again and breathed a bit with bill. i'm letting him stay in the wash until james wakes.

as i puttered i put on the cd. it's from the zen hospice. as i listened i heard these words: "welcome everything. push away nothing."

and suddenly i realized the whole morning, everything, death is entwined with all of this. what dies, what lives, what becomes. everything is in an endless process of becoming. death is not the end, though it is. how many times can i remember this? i think that being absolutely alive is a process of reawakening to this again and again.

now, i think i'll fill the feeder and invite the birds.