The strangest thing about being dead
Is hearing what other people say about you.

I was robbed of Life
Or rather
Death and I became friends
In a time of life when that doesn't usually happen.
Yet.

Hiking led to falling led to
Broken bones and whispers
Of whose fault it was that one time
My sister and I made my mother cry.

A pain, a panicked sickening,
And then a peace. It was done.

I wandered through the shadows
Just listening.

People spoke of the accident.
Of the cause. I could no longer
Join the discussion.

Strangers who listened to news reports
Discussed my fate without batting an eye.
Secretly thinking
This will never happen to me.

Of course not, because these things always happen
To someone else.

After reading A Severe Mercy
I decided to collect what the author coined to be
Still Points of the Turning World.

Moments
As fine as flour
As ephemeral as the waxing of the moon
Yet as eloquent and lucid
As the vermilion and indigo sunrises in the East
Which take one’s breath away.

I sat in an empty room
Full of people
As I watched my Grandfather breathe his last.
His eyes closed. My Mother’s tears
Streamed across his cheeks.

I ran a way from home
Post Storm. The fading clouds
Loomed heavy, still bitter.
Yet I’d never felt as light
As when I stared across the landscape
And felt the peace of Being
Sweep over me.

I looked at his pupils.
The soul dwells there, They say.
“I’ve never done this before.”
He moved a loose strand of hair
Behind my ear. He took my mouth
And helped me learn.

The thing about
Still Points of the Turning World
Is that they are full of Pain, Longing
Wonder, Joy, and are
Every bit of what makes Life
Worth living.

Simply being aware of them
Germinates the seeds
Curiosity creates
Their space to breathe
And love
Waters the roots.

If I don't live, breathe,
Think, feel. I fear I shall be
Not the rose I wished.

The life I had planned
Shall have slipped away like the
Careless winds of June

Into the Darkness
The unreachable sleepy
Unwakeable night.

Shall I forget this?
When my life has come and gone
Will I be the same?

The Tightrope said to me
"Life's a walk!"
He also said
"Death's a trip!"
Though he be but a humble Tightrope
I believe he speaks the truth.

What do you say to the Bridegroom
When you are not the Bride?
What do you wear to the Funeral
When you are the one that's died?

They say all these things will make sense in Heaven.
But what will I do til then?

I saw wings on the ceiling
Skinny Love playing in my head
I was told wings were used to fly
To carry us to places not yet seen
By eyes like mine.

It would seem that wings can be used
Simply to walk.

For the steady gait
Of life's ups and downs
Requires extra balance when
You're walking a tightrope.