AsWeGoHomestead.

Com September 17, 2009

The Final Dance

G. S. Collins

INTRODUCTION During the course of a lifetime each of us observe death in many forms and never truly experience the Miracle of Death. Modern medicine has, to a great degree, interfered with this process. With hospital rooms and useless, often painful treatments, doctors attempts to deny this experience. Nothing can totally prepare anyone for the extreme highs and lows that are essential to participate in this miracle or the frequency of these shifts. When the heart nears the end there are good and bad days. The good days bring the illusion of hope, with the bad days returns the reality of hopelessness. The laws of nature that dictate the human aging process simply cannot be denied indefinitely. It is a simple, but true fact, that on the day of our birth we each began the dying process. To the best of my knowledge no human in history has been able to avoid this law of nature. But this is a law to be embraced and not hidden behind a surgeons mask or ministers robe. I would urge anyone caring for a terminally ill loved one to embrace this law of nature, not on an intellectual basis, but more importantly on a spiritual basis. Intellectually dying is quite readily accepted. However, on spiritual and emotional levels it is more difficult to grasp. To care for a loved one and allow them to gracefully experience this miracle is the greatest gift one can bestow. However, to bestow this gift is a most difficult task. The following verses are from my journal, kept while fulfilling a special Mothers final wish to depart this world from her bed at home and not in hospital. These verses were her final lesson to me during those last months. Grace, Love and Peace George Collins

The Beginning

Past my window, a noisy crow flies, announcing a misty, gray sunrise

A wise man knows that he is dying, without fear or concern, without conscious thought. He does not dwell in his own mortality, nor seek assurance of immortality, nor promises of a next incarnation. He does not focus on thoughts of filling his lungs with air, yet freely he breathes. He does not focus on pictures of decay and death, as each day decay progresses, death's embrace draws closer. A wise man accepts both life and death, each dependent upon the other, neither separate of each.

The fool seldom ponders life's purpose, too involved with living, to consider such elusive points. The fool fails to recognize the most primary of purposes. That which leads each of us in the end, to the same destination. The wise man accepts mortality, as a pure purpose of life. For life itself is merely the vehicle that carries us to the unknown. The wise man acknowledges the oneness, of life and death. The fool sees only duality, and never truly perceives the truth.

A wise man trusts a tiger, to act and react as a tiger. To expect otherwise is foolish, and contrary to natural law. Only a fool views life, without as well viewing death. To recognize dying as essential to living is harmonious with nature.

As time grows shorter, the task becomes more difficult, and strength more necessary and my prison grows more confining. One cannot count the months or days, nor the hours or minutes. Each moment stands on it's own, disconnected from the next. Seeking solace in my thoughts, I nurture seeds in my garden. Weeding and watering, I speak with my soul. One can only humbly accept, that which follows natural laws. To do otherwise denies truth, and engages suffering. Speak often with your soul, deep within yourself dear friend. There you will discover comfort, and repose for the spirit.

A wise man tends his own garden, and remains free of politics, sits in judgment of no man, and avoids material slavery. A wise man knows both birth and death, understanding a deeper relation, between mortality and immortality. A wise man remains focused on what, while the fool ponders why. One accepts natural law, the other follow, precepts of thought.

The more I walk alone; the less I require. The less I am, the more I become. Among fields of knowledge, flirt hints of wisdom, until nothing becomes all. The more I know myself, the fewer are my needs, better I see my way. Before one can know all men, he must first know himself, and walk alone.

The blending of active and passive, awakening of both, masculine and feminine. The uniting of souls to one, to discover self within another. Such uniting of perceived opposites gives birth to limitless energy, and potential for all things. Only the way chosen, determines tempest or calm, creation or destruction.

On this day of memory, from the warmth of my bed, I remember so many faces. All etched on olive colored steel, beneath wings so fragile. I remember their names and faces. Beyond useless memorials of man, I honor their sacrifice. Far from parades and ceremonies, behind prison walls and tombstones, I honor their dishonor.

Ever so gently I examine the universe, savoring elusive moments, of great understanding, enduring an eternity of confusion. To remain between mountain and valley, must certainly be the way. To know the heart of enlightenment, while tasting the spice of philosophy, To blend both active and passive, while remaining void of self. To stand between opposites, both madness and genus, make difficult the way.

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It's been so long since we last spoke, the years have past, and we've both been so far. In so many ways we're different, yet many remain the same, mostly in our hearts. So often I missed you, when my world collapsed, and I felt totally alone. Those times when a friend was needed, my thoughts always included you., but I allowed pride to isolate. In moments of great despair, I always heard your voice, felt the comfort of your heart. I cannot seek understanding, when there is no defense for a life spent foolish. I only seek your love again, the comfort or your voice, on good days and bad, just whenever we speak.

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How can you not know who you are, if there is flour on your breast, or sawdust in your pockets? How can you recognize a carpenter, with no saw nor hammer, with hands soft and smooth. How can you know yourself, if you do not take the time, to look?

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Speak to each life force, without physical contamination. Trust intuition over education. A wise man recognizes in institutions, the inherent prejudice of thought, and perhaps more importantly, those of his own. Recognize the gross limitations of scientific definitions, and of scientific process. A wise man understands science as a beginning not end. Only a fool holds science, as a reflection of final truths.

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To take action without acting, to experience the passive, without falling victim. To break those bindings, that tie to specific dogma, without destroying life force. To listen with a mystic ear, to speak with an inner voice, to feel all that comprises the universe. To trust the inherent good of mankind, not limiting one's perception, being divorced of all that is negative and weakness of man. To walk along despite doubt, to extinguish fear and desire, to simply be in the universe, such is to know God.

14

Ever so gently I observed the departure, ever to gracefully, as a deer disappears in the forest. So gracefully the departure, sometimes here and others there, while always returning to now. As days turn to months, only to return to days, time becomes ignored. Moments of joy and hope, others of despair and sadness, always changing, always different. So graceful the departure, so delicate the soul. So firm the faith.

15

Down hill days erased by those of false recovery, only to return, killing my illusion. The memory begins to fade, losing more each passing day, and the nights are so much worse. At first I attempt to correct, mistaken names and places, so easily corrected. As if keeping the mind present, will bind and hold, the soul to this earth. But recovery takes a little longer, and the bounce back, a little less than last.. No longer do I correct, when departed souls are called, I simply ask what I might do, and allow her the illusion.

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All beings are predestined to death, not to become artist, or leaders of men. The end result of a lifetime is reflection of cause and effect, not predestination. The degree of intellect one posses, determines the limits of potential, the final summation of life. To be totally aware of the universe is to follow laws of nature, and their influences of thought. True freedom is experienced, with action of pure will, not pure desire. Pure will is as first thought, free from other causes, other than itself. Only a foolish society, will march to the beat, of a single drummer.

The Middle

I wish to be here no longer, my spirit grows weary, and my heart so heavy. 17

How difficult the wait, through long sleepless nights, watching days blend to weeks. How difficult the acceptance, when time no longer matters, and life moves with each second. How confusing the emotions, the roller coaster, of highs and lows. How deep the weariness, when physical limits are challenged, and spiritual experience exceeded. How low the lows seem, tearing at my soul, wearing at my strength. How high the highs once seemed, when hope filled the air, even though falsely. But that's been some time now, the highs have gone away, and the only the lows remain.

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Twice I have awaited the arrival, which announces the departure, yet I only catch glimpse, and only see the departure. No sounding trumpets are heard, no lightning across dark sky, no rolling thunder, nor final breathe. At bedside I sit and wait, filling my lungs with sterile air, attempting to prepare myself. So difficult awaiting unknown, so difficult to prepare, when there are no guides. Waiting for the final teacher, to present the final lesson, that only the last student, will fully understand.

19

No one prepared me for the pain, or the true cost of comfort. The hours of morphine induced sleep, the constant intoxication, spotted with moments of clarity. Questioning of thoroughness, searching for new answers to questions, already considered answered. So painfully helpless I awaken, long before each morning sun, expecting death's visit overnight. Today I must remember, who is passenger and who is guest, at the end of another's journey.

20

I remember her a young woman, with a haunting smile, beneath a stylish hat. I remember drive-in movies, swing sets full of children, popcorn at intermission. I remember watching her dress, for Saturday dances, and visiting friends. I remember her inner strength, and her sense of peace with God, and how she loved her children. I remember pants painted with red clay, and eating wild grapes, while sitting in treetops. I remember her constant presence, in good times and bad. But most of all it seems, I remember her love.

21

A wise man acknowledges, both the good and bad of men, on a plane beyond duality. For to consider any man, one or the other, is a foolish consideration. To truly know any man, greet him with an open mind, and with completeness. Do not hurry your introduction, nor be incomplete with your observation, for action is the soul's reflection. Can you visualize a flower, by observing a single petal, or a solitary root? How can you know any man, without first observing, the total of his character?

22

How I both dread and welcome, death's cold arrival, for at last end to suffering. Worn by conflicting emotions, following weeks of hope, mixed with hopelessness. Trapped on an emotional river, cutting deep into the soul, never ending, and never stopping. How long the nights now seem, how black the starless sky, how deep the depression. Beneath this mask presented, tears are captured in my heart. Prayers spoken but are answered, others are left unsaid. A life passes.

23 Each day the visits are shorter, the memories less clear, and conversations more confusing. Time only an useless measure, as long dead friends, make daily visits. Names called from long ago, as hours blend to days, and days soon become weeks. Already begins the grieving, as mourners await the coffin, fears grows from self doubt. I sit and watch her skin turn pale, and once bright eyes grow dim, and dread the coming day. I wonder if she knows. Each day different yet unchanged, from poor to fair and back again, always changing, always painful. Voices fill my every thought, casting doubt on old beliefs, as tears blind my view. Tomorrow will be a little harder, and my tears a little wetter, as she awaits her journey home.

24

So many times I fail to say, I love you, most times when you, need me to the most. So many times you scold me, for my masculine failings, most times when I need a gentle reminder. So often I see your love, in stolen glances, of graceful concern. Always when you're near me, and I feel your comfort. Nursing fevered nights, and the slow healing, of inner spiritual wounds. Always I know you love me, always.

25

Now comes a time of memories, of birthday parties, and Christmas gifts. Memories of happier moments, in other places, at other times. Of kitchen smells, and father's razor. Remembering doorknobs, and merry-go-rounds, and even an elephant too. Today I think I'll only remember, happy times and happy things, watch butterflies, as flowers bloom, Today I'll simply rest.

26

Today anxiety strikes, delivering an emotional blow, disabling from within. So difficult the transition, as we travel from now to then, so fearful the unknown. Silently waiting and watching, as my soul drains of energy, leaving only exhaustion. Futile attempts to discover cause, only increase discomfort, and at best frustration. For anxiety is only extinguished, when it's irrational nature, lies exposed to view. Choose not "why", rather focus on "what", not accepting irrational pain.

27

Soon the messenger will come, unseen by all but one, silent to all others, but to one clearly visible. Patiently awaiting the arrival, straining to hear the footsteps, but only the hissing oxygen, escapes into the room. I watch through dirty windows, by chance to catch a glimpse, but the air remains still, and can see no movement. Darkness falls as did yesterday, day before and tomorrow, morning slowly arrives, but no messenger comes. Each day the weariness grows, and my eyes involuntarily close, only to be startled open, by movement perceived and gone. Exhaustion feeds the imagination, and intuition is set free, the two must be distinguished, for all to be in order

28

Can you tell me please, where butterflies go, when winter winds howl, and ice covers the earth. When fall's last wildflower, stands frozen where it grew, petals now dead and brown. Can you tell me please, where the spirit goes, when blood ceases to flow, and the body lies empty? White sheets cover a useless shell, hiding the cold face of death. Can you tell me where, the soul has gone, now the body, is laid to rest?

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My God is that definition, this moment held as truth, not tomorrow, nor yesterday. My God is always with me, at the present moment, not the next, nor last. My God speaks to me this moment, so here I shall remain. For how can I hear him, if I am not where is?

30

The golden softness of your hair seems reflection of your heart, and your soft gently touch, reflects the comfort you give. I watch you silently share love, with a stranger awaiting death, while a glow of endless love, radiates from your heart. How I wish you to love yourself, the same as you love others. If I could I'd make you selfish, though difficult it would be. Your heart carries all answers, and a love not yet fulfilled. First you must ask the question, then listen to the reply. In your soul is hidden treasure, beyond your wildest dreams. First you must discover, that which you will share.

31

Two days of gloomy rain, at last the sun returns, bright rays freeing me. Trapped in this tiny room, me with endless time, and helpless waiting. Mornings fill with more confusion, destroying perceptions of time. People come and they go, some illusion, some real. Painfully watching confusion, as the oxygen no longer sobers, and only morphine deadens the pain. Today you ask how long, and I could not seem to answer, a month, a day, a hour, what could I say.

32

Was last night the final crisis that last burst of will before the final surrender? I sensed something departing, leaving only the physical behind, to sleep a final sleep. As if no energy remains, and the eyes, no longer connect with the soul. Now only endless hissing oxygen, no sound of ringing bell, nor calling voice. At last delusions are gone, no more memory slips, only endless morphine slumber. Tonight I await the physical death, but the spirit left last night. Tonight I stand a son's vigil, as the final act begins.

33

How I wish to discover, understanding of your word, not of my mind, but of my heart. If only I could catch a glimpse, of that plan you hold, that any existence has purpose, would I be able to see? How difficult to join the puzzle, when those joined fragments, reflect the total experience, and the essence of self.

34

Again the day begins before light, but now only a few sips of water, and a voice so, so soft, it can be barely heard. Once again small improvement, thought smaller than last, and much longer arriving. I don't know if I can go there, or if I know where that place is. If it's somewhere I've been before, or somewhere else you've gone.

35

How angry I've become, with you at first, for dying. But I know that, only selflessness. Then grave sadness, when medicines fail, and then refused. No strength left, for food, nor water. I anger at my helplessness, at both life, and at death. But only for myself, and you, I wait.

36

Forever I have loved you, even before my first breath, in the warmth of your womb. Forever I have known you, and been aware of your presence, even before my first thought. Now I sit and watch you fade, so very slowly it seems, as life's tide flows away. Forever you have existed, but now you dance alone, and I must set you free. How very hard it is Dear Lord, saying that final goodbye, to the first I have known.

37

I watch you sleep so peacefully, unconsciously matching your breath, until I cannot, and gasp for air. Alone my sadness surrounds me unbearable pressure forces air into my lungs. Morning coolness fades with the sun, but nothing erases the pain, for eases the heart. I cannot remember last sleep, certainly not last rest, both day and night blend to one. Each moment a timeless continuation, of a dream with no escape, and reality no longer certain.

The End To deny death is to deny a law of nature, to accept death, is to grasp life's meaning.

38

This morning I discovered, your departure in the night. So silently you left us, not a single sound, no final word. Fearfully I searched your breast, for a faint breath, of the slightest move. But nothing would appear, and helplessly I knew. This morning you slept late, as I always knew you would. In the night your soul departed, in answer to my prayer. I cried.

39

Mother has been gone for a day now, and life slowly returns to focus. I wish I could say it's over, but anxiety attacks come and go, urgently reminding me, to remain here in this moment, not the last of next. How my heart cries missing her, not yet fully grasping, the reality of her departure. Today when I felt panic, how I wanted to call her, only to realize that she, as I had known her, had totally ceased to be, I again I cried.

40

This moment a butterfly dances, from buttercup to buttercup, tasting beauty at each stop. This moment a dragonfly hovers, gently sipping water, from a crystal garden pool, under a soft warming sun. This moment a soul cries out, from deep in the wilderness, I know God hears. This moment he joins me, on a clear path and rocky field, I know his grace. This moment contains eternity, without the wants of yesterday, or the illusions of tomorrow.

41

I remember summer play, on inner tubes at Smitty's Beach, those long hot days of childhood, no so far from my reach. I remember red clay racetracks, autumn nights and the fair. Remembering the good times, to forget what's really now. I remember a first good car, and a first true love. I remember my first war, so far from home, just like everybody does. How I wish I had never discovered, much I didn't know back then. Not knowing where I'm going, don't care where I've been. How strange to remember, recollections thought forgotten. I remember a time between wars, and a childhood in the sun.

The Aftermath

My Dearest Heavenly Father, I pray for strength, and for wisdom.

42 Today I walked into an empty house, though filled with possessions, but now without you. A shattered clown lay broken, just in front of your cabinet, and I knew you were here, I could sense your anger, as well as your love, and your direction. I close and lock your house, for one final time, I looked upon your life. The furniture and flowers, so powerful the smells. But now I must walk away from this, and the greed that follows death. The hyena can now feed, freely of the lamb. With difficulty I pray, not for me, but for another soul.

43

A time of new beginnings, now that death, has come and gone. Time to restart again, a new place, a new life. A sons duty complete. Arriving a visitor, on my way to someplace else, at last I too depart, a much different being, than anyone could accept, or anyone would allow. Glad to continue the journey, sadly I leave the memories behind, for there is no energy, remaining to share. I have much less, than when I arrived, but depart with more.

44

So often now I forget, the final lesson mother taught. Now surrounded as vultures wait, preparing to feed. It's so easy to forget, the months of slowly dying, the final gift she shared. How I wished she had prepared me, for the greed that would follow, or did she know. But that's of no importance, so long as the lesson is remembered, and her wishes were fulfilled. We each must face final judgment, naked except for truth. I gladly await this meeting, for this is the final chapter, no different than many others, yet for me it's the ending, and I turn walking away, towards today.

45

So many empty houses, decaying slowly to nothing, no longer awaiting renters, only shells of beings past, hidden by weeds and dust. Memories stored now melt away, as departed spirits rise, vanishing thought broken windows, in empty rooms, of empty houses. Atoms rearrange themselves, vibrations increase and decrease. Changing not dying, always moving forward. In this moment and endless dance, once time disappears, and the universe is felt.

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Often comes a sensation of soul, of changes now taking place, of more understanding, of transformation. Like fear of balance on a tightrope, below the threat of death, above the promise of understanding. Sometimes you must cross the canyon, to reach the mountains beyond. Often you must be blinded, to see the truth within.

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If you do not believe, you cannot begin. If you do not act, you cannot change. If you do not feel, you cannot understand. If you take no risk, you cannot grow. For change is the food of life, and truth breaths of life. Follow only truth.

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That which is in your grasp, hold not close to your breast, for all is transitory. But that contained in your heart, remains forever true. No need of lock, nor chains, nor fear or loss.

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