By Irene Conlan –

On our trip to -Todos Sanctos we were just leaving La Paz driving on a relatively new but winding two lane highway when we came quite close to dying. One huge truck was starting to pass another when apparently the driver of the truck trying to pass saw us coming. In his effort to get the truck back in its own lane, he clipped a pickup behind him. The driver of the pickup over-corrected, hit the shoulder and lost control hurling the pickup across the highway and rolling over two or three times. (None of us could remember exactly after it was over). If we had been no more than two seconds further we would have had an accident involving two tractor/trailors, one pickup and us.

Neither of the trucks could stop and there was no place for them to turn around. We were able to turn around and go back to help the men in the pickup. Fortunately (miraculously) they were both out of the pickup and already calling on their cell phones for help. The cargo they were carrying in the pickup bed was strewn everywhere and the pickup was bashed and smashed. The men were o.k.

I remember, as I saw the pickup flying across the highway, thinking this was the end and hoping that I would die rather than be mangled up and living. Strange thought. I don’t think I’m afraid to die but I do fear the pain that comes with such a physical onslaught and the inability to function fully. And I am even more aware of how precious and tenuous life is. I am very grateful that no one was injured.

The next morning I received the following poem in my email. I found it to be quite timely and very comforting. And since grief, grieving and death are things that must be considered on a self improvement path I wanted to share it with you:

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings five feet apart
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows
so I thought:m
aybe death isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us
as soft as feathers
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light scalding, aortal light
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(House of Light)

By Irene Conlan -

Death is in the news on a daily basis. We hear about murders, drunk drivers, accidents of all kinds, deaths in the Iraq war, deaths from illnesses and natural deaths of those who are well known. We hear the report, perhaps say a quick prayer, and go on about our business. We usually don’t know the deceased or their family and seldom give thought to the pain represented by those few seconds of news.

The grieving continues long after the story is forgotten and the funeral is a part of the distant past. Regardless of our religious or spiritual beliefs in life after life, there is grief over the loss of someone we love dearly. [Read more...]