Life and Death

Wandering lonely as a cloud . . . through the ravines and the peaks of this amazing life. . .pausing . looking more carefully into the forest, . . as leaves begin falling in August, the first volunteers in a wave of seasonal rearrangement. . . stooping to examine veins in the leaf, feeling the breeze that separates another leaf from its life-branch. The leaf drifts to forest floor, joining the multitude of last year’s leaves. . . bowing to their destiny of dirt, which nourished the tree from which it fell, and will serve to nourish the neighboring trees. . . we discern the balance between death and life.

We become aware of evidence of processes we do not fully understand; we reach out to touch the substance of eternal LIfe that we hope for. Changing direction, adjusting focus, the aging human frame considers the veins in his arm, performing their bloody duty, standing more pronounced, at age 75, beneath the skin, carrying precious fluid to the micro-universe of a mortal body, a human reaching and hoping for an immortal destiny. . . wandering, wondering, we discover evidence of ongoing life; we encounter in our soul evidence of eternal life hoped for, but not yet seen, sustained by a faith that there was one Christ who conquered death itself. . . you gotta believe.

To make a connection between what we see, hear, smell and . . . eternity, we comprehend . . . every moment of life is precious. . . every day presents new possibility for rejoicing in the new day, the present day, anticipating days ahead, whether here in the forest, or . . .

Look up at the sky. Prepare to ascend with the clouds, as the rain ascends to the clouds before it returns to earth again. Milk every moment of life before the silver cord is broken, before the golden bowl is broken, before your trunk is taken. Live life to the fullest. . .(s)he not busy being born is busy dyin’. Glass half-Full