Dear friends,
Take a moment to bring yourself to a place of quiet to hear a work of fiction.
Breathing in,
Breathing out,
Becoming present.
Maisie found herself at the edge of a dark and wet country road.
She was lying face down,
Her hands buried deep in slippery mud.
She remembers an excruciating pain across her thighs,
But she can feel nothing there now.
She's afraid to look down,
Fearful of what she might or might not see.
The car had come so fast,
Its headlights blinding her,
Then nothing but a thump she will never forget,
Followed by that excruciating pain,
A piercing,
Terrible pain.
It's late,
She cannot lift herself up.
In a moment of terror she realises she might die here,
Alone,
Tonight.
In a flash,
She looks back over a lifetime of six decades,
But cannot recall any act,
Any one thing,
That might justify her having lived.
Is this what her life was all about?
Please don't let me die tonight.
I'm not ready.
Not here.
Not now.
An agnostic,
But a seeker for many years,
She issues a fervent prayer,
But has no thought as to the identity of the entity,
If any,
To whom prayers in times of crisis might be addressed.
But nature demands that she pray.
Please don't let me die here tonight.
I'm not ready.
Not here.
Not now.
She fears oblivion,
But at the same time dreads whatever of her life might survive the death of her body.
Her long,
Ingrained fear of hell,
Planted in childhood,
Is matched only by her feelings of unworthiness for anything approaching heaven.
Maisie regrets the emptiness of her life,
The long years of mindlessness.
She hadn't harmed anyone,
But she regrets the missed opportunities,
All the times she'd not done anything to help.
She recalls having heard of near-death experiences,
Tunnels of light,
Long-departed friends coming to greet the new arrivals.
But she was ashamed of her emptiness here and now on this desolate,
Wet roadside.
She shivers with cold,
Drifting in and out of consciousness,
Each short sleep a relief from the agony of her thoughts.
Then she thinks she sees a tiny spot of light.
She tries to focus.
Yes,
It is real and it is getting bigger.
She raises her hand to draw attention as the bus approaches.
But as it passes,
She's thrown back by a wall of cold spray,
The rear lights blinding her as she looks helplessly after the passing vehicle.
But amazingly,
Someone has seen her.
The bus stops.
People are running towards her.
She manages to raise her hand in a moment of indescribable relief.
Maybe there is more time.
Sometimes a crisis brings us to our senses.
It allows us to begin anew,
Grateful for the opportunities that arise every day,
Allowing us to play our part in making this world a better place.
Surprisingly,
We can give thanks for those unwelcome incidents which have helped to bring us to ourselves and have helped us alter course and move in the direction of the good life.
As we open our eyes with gratitude,
We realise that we have another 24 hours,
The allocation of which is in our own hands.
The light of each new day is a reminder that yet again we have been given an opportunity to practice being the best we can be.
Another chance to respond to the question brought to us by the wonderful Mary Oliver.
Tell me,
What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Namaste.
