What, 82 years old! How the hell did that happen!
Yep, today is my 82nd birthday, and this morning I was thinking about what I had written on my birthday a few years ago. It described a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: A group of grubby-looking guys are pulling a cart full of corpses through a plague-ridden medieval village while one of them periodically bangs a gong and shouts “Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!” A villager approaches carrying a bloke, apparently lifeless, to toss onto the cart when the bloke raises his head slightly and mutters, “I’m not dead.” Well, given that you’re reading these words right now, you can rest assured that I’m not dead yet.
Me & Lucky
Then there was this little poem I wrote in 2017:
I guess it all . . . depends.
Finally, a few paragraphs drawn from a piece I wrote on my 80th birthday:
Shonnie, Gray & me on the Mountains To Sea Trail
Let me be clear: I don’t believe I’m going to some heavenly reward. Iris Dement sums it up for me pretty well: “I think I’ll just let the mystery be.” I do believe, however, that my spirit will live on in the writings I’ve left behind, but most importantly to me, in the hearts of those who love me. And perhaps my ashes can be ground and placed in an hourglass timer so I can continue to participate in game nights with Shonnie and Gracelyn.
I’ve lived much of my life as though I had an infinite amount of time in my earthly form. But I’m finally coming to realize that living a spiritual life means being conscious of my eventual death and being ready to go at any moment—my memoir complete, all affairs in order, everything said that is to be said, everything done that is to be done, releasing relationships that no longer serve me and nurturing those that do, atonement for my misdeeds, forgiveness extended to myself and others, no loose ends, ready for the deep sleep that never ends.
