More on the Death of a Son

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On the Death of a Son

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A Year to Live

Buddhist Steven Levine, in the last chapter of his book, "A Year to Live" (Three Rivers Press, 1997), writes the following about contemplating his own death:

"And on the day before the last, in the midst of the enormous lullaby, I thought to myself, 'We should only be so lucky as to die in this incredible spaciousness and peace.'  Then, turning toward the mystery, I let go into the floating world, and following my heart into the luminous unknown, the body light as a feather, a sense of ease pervading as I felt myself borne into the vastness of original being, knowing that love was the only rational act of a lifetime."

Certain words of this meditation jump out at me -- "turning toward the mystery," "the luminous unknown," "the vastness of orignal being," and love as the only rational act of our lives.  I savor these words, taste them, turn them over in my mind and burying them in my heart...

It is not only my wife, Sabine, that is dying every day, it is me -- and each one of us -- only the rate varies.

But are we ready?  Ready as the Native American warriors who said before a battle, "Today is a good day to die!"

Can we make the same declaration with a clear mind and conscience?  IS today a good day to die and if it is not, why not?

What must we do to declare today as a good day to die?  Then, let's go right now and DO it!

My Daughter Goes to War

I have found that poetry helps me in my spiritual journey. I think it does so because it keeps me and my heart OPEN when I struggle to shut down and hide my feelings. Thus, today's poem is a struggle I am having to be open and trusting God during another difficult time in my life. While some of you may call it "political," I chose to call the poem "spiritual" in the style of a lament psalm...

God bless all of you as we journey through the Christmas season and into the Epiphany and the New Year!

my daughter

is this
the last time
i will see you
as you are?
as i have known
you?

after christmas
you returned
setting your sights
on your mission
to that strange land
we’ve
bombarded
blasted and
tried to
colonize

my friend
told me of
russia’s war
there
and how
each morning
his aunt and other
mothers of moscow
would wait at
the train
station
to wail
together
knowing
somewhere among
those many caskets
was one of
their
sons

when my
daughter left
her mother
tearfully said as
we drove away
“we will never see
her again”
she will be
changed
her friends will
be injured
perhaps her
others will die
her brigade will
return in a year
but with fewer
soldiers

i cannot even think
about the
horror of
your dying
even the thought
sucks air
from my lungs
seizes
my guts

mazar-e sharif
she said
a northern city
in a country where
tribal allegiances
mean more
than
what we call
democracy
a place
we cannot understand
let alone
force to our
will

another shameful
war
for what?
for whom?
certainly not her
nor the bodies
of her comrades

Washington –
i am putting you
on notice
hear me
you’d better not
kill
my daughter

are you
listening?
i will do
more
than
wail
at a
train station

i
will bring
you
to your knees.