It’s the 42nd day since my brother passed away. I wake aware of the directions, east, west, north, south, up, down, and how they come together to encompass and embrace a whole, a hole, a synergy expanding life and death.
For me, the three day Memorial weekend is a time to pause and reflect. I look out on stillness tapped with the chirping of birds.
Yesterday I listened to Jonathan Maberry’s speech at the Bram Stoker awards which inspired me to read Shirley Jackson’s story, The Haunting of Hill House which then led me to re-read her story The Lottery, written in 1948 after WWII.
I sit now with this balancing of in and out, of what my mind may create within the larger structure of which I’m part. How willing am I to break with the crowd?
Certainly this weekend asks us to examine what is worth fighting for, what is worth dying for. It asks us to open our hearts to what is true for us, to open to what enlivens and enhances the connections in our lives.
I am with the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Life goes headlong. Each of us is always to be found hurrying headlong in the chase of some fact, hunted by some fear or command behind us. Suddenly we meet a friend. We pause. Our hurry & embarrassment look ridiculous. Now pause, now possession is required, and the power to swell the moment from the resources of our own heart until it supersedes sun & moon & solar system in its expanding immensity. The moment is all, in all noble relations.