I'm afraid and life's a gift.

Field Notes

Welcome to Field Notes. Here, you’ll find short reflections and questions to support your intentional life. Please comment to share your experiences of living with attention.

Morning light

Here, in the northern hemisphere we are moving increasingly into darkness and cold. Thanks to the wonderful Mimi-Kuo Deemer and her QiGong classes, I know that QiGong connects the winter season with the water element and that Chinese medicine links the water element and the kidneys with their associated emotion of fear.

Where does fear surface in your life? What is your relationship with it?

Fear came up in my a session with my own Spiritual Companion this week. As I recounted to her my list of fears - climate, political instability, my children’s futures - I recognized the root cause of these terrors as an inherent fear of death. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want anyone I know to die. I don’t want to die because I don’t know where my “I” is going, and I don’t want others to die because much suffering would come with their deaths. I felt somewhat ashamed to admit this. And no wonder - our society spends a great deal of energy, money, and time denying death. However, I must say that the admission felt like a relief and the acceptance a helpful action. Now, I can practice being with my fear of death and see what happens rather than trying to skirt it, ignore it, feel sheepish about it (although I know I’ll still do all of those things as well).

What is your relationship with death? Has that relationship changed over time?

And also, as I learn to live with my mortality for a companion, something like this might happen:

"Winter Morning" 

When I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater glowing
orange as it warms the floor near my feet,
I know it’s because I’ve been fooled again
by the selfish, unruly man who lives in me
and believes he deserves only safety
and comfort. But if I pause as I do now,
and watch the streetlights outside flashing
off one by one like old men blinking their
cloudy eyes, if I listen to my tired neighbors
slamming car doors hard against the morning
and see the steaming coffee in their mugs
kissing chapped lips as they sip and
exhale each of their worries white into
the icy air around their faces—then I can
remember this one life is a gift each of us
was handed and told to open: Untie the bow
and tear off the paper, look inside
and be grateful for whatever you find
even if it is only the scent of a tangerine
that lingers on the fingers long after
you’ve finished peeling it.

(you can also find this poem by James Crews here)

This week I watched my sons, home for the weekend, shoveling in chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage at a nearby breakfast place we visited on a whim before I returned them to their dorms. Their shoulders and chests have broadened with the help of time and weightlifting. Their lives widen as well, and their mother watches this expansion with awe and some tears. They are not safe and I am not comfortable, but their lives and mine are gifts for as long as we live them. And when I am very brave, I believe that death helps to make this so.

How do you experience life as a gift? How does death, life’s finitude, influence this experience?