The Finality, The Immoveable

Art: Narcisco De Alfonso

Death has been a huge lesson in finality for me. In immovability.

In relating to the kind of thing that is non-negotiable.

It’s interesting, while I’ve got the “constant change” part of life down.

I didn’t realize how entitled I felt to negotiate.

Let me explain.

When we spiritual people are busy making lemonade, it’s a kind of alchemy entitlement to have the uncomfortable change we’ve experienced turn into something meaningful, purposeful, useful, and in a way, it makes us feel better.

I’ve spent my life taking every single “bad” thing that happened to me, and transforming into a “lesson”, which in my mind made it a benefit.

Then there’s the subtle power of negotiation.

Think about it, there is almost no ending or change that we can’t negotiate at some point for more comfort.

Our car breaks down, new car.

We get robbed, new stuff.

Our relationship ends, we can likely even negotiate with our ex partner to make the situation less painful on us.

It’s not that some of these things aren’t extraordinarily awful. They are.

But we can almost always “light at the end of the tunnel things” at some point, in some way.

At least that’s been my experience.

But death? The death of someone we need? Someone who is integral to our sense of self? Suddenly?

None of this stuff negotiates. There are no substitutes. No “this or something better”.

There can never be someone or something better than my son. While I might learn some lessons from this. It’s inevitable. I’ll never look back fondly and say this pain was worth the loss because I gained something. Not with this one.

With death, there is only a wall. It only sucks. There is no alchemy with the absolutely unmovable.

So we are forced to relate to what is real. Stark reality.

I wake up every day, not even with his death hitting me first anymore. But reality. It’s like life has been stripped back.

All of the delusions I’d installed around safety are gone.

I’m not sure this is a bad thing.

It’s a real sober thing. It’s a maturity thing. And incredibly there’s still magic to be found in the austerity of death. Though no, none of it is exactly welcome. It just is.

Isness is my new companion. The isness of this new reality. Of time marching on. Of who I am now.

It’s so raw. So naked. So stripped back. Face to face with what is. And learning to dance with Her.