I have sat with death many a time. More than I care to admit. To bear witness to such a profound moment in someone’s life is extraordinary. Every day our bodies go about their ways and we believe that we know what we are up to, but do we truly? I think that perhaps the only time our bodies know what to actually be doing, without us, are in life and in death. From our first breath, to birthing a life, to our last breath. For two days now I have witnessed a dying wild spirit. I have asked for help, I have warned others, I have offered the Earth my acknowledgement. Today I knew there was nothing more I could do. My pup knew too, for once she was quiet. Above, far above the reaching tops of the trees, in migrant flocks too large to count came the call of the wild geese. It was then that I started reciting the poem I carry with me diligently. Mary Oliver, the best of the best: “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting– over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” My feeling of despair was replaced with awe of the natural world. Knowing that it is ok to not be ok. Knowing that this wild spirit knew of this all along for its body was behaving as it only knew how. What better place to spend your final moments than under a sky full of song, surrounded by gentle giants and the hum of a river that moves only as it knows how. I offered my peace, gulping in the fresh air as I slowly trekked on. How fleeting each moment is. How healing this time can be. How intricately woven we all are. In the words of Florence- How big. How blue. How beautiful. -JL
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