Life is one big miracle; filled with all kinds of miracles. One of the greatest miracles we think is the miracle of birth. A miracle filled with joy and new promises. That is what we like. Opposite to that, there is the miracle of death. A miracle, for sure! But I never heard anybody call it that. It is because when we think of a miracle, we automatically think of something beautiful. And although it can bring situations of really beautiful feelings when somebody dies, we don’t regard death in itself as such. Quickly we fill ourselves with thoughts of a better place the deceased went, to ease our feelings of grief. But grief has a rightful place and need to be felt. For grief is a sign of missing the person and missing means that you can be grateful for all you have shared together.
A miracle, because it is clear that the body, after dying, is nothing more than a shed peel. So where does life goes to? The living soul? Without leaving a trace; at least not a tangible one. The Hereafter, Nirvana, Heaven. We give it a name and we have an image of it in our mind, but we actually haven’t the faintest idea what it is like. Living in a body goes together with a limited understanding and sensation. Hence we cannot follow the deceased with our eyes and our touch. Only with that very thin fragile sense. For more clarity on this miracle and perhaps all others, we’ll have to wait until it’s our time. Doesn’t that hold a beautiful promise? But it cannot be more than a promise, or it could become a goal. A goal that would make life here useless. First, we need to learn here. Learn how to connect. Connect with those yet to be born. Connect with those we meet. Connecting with plants, mountains, rivers and the animals around us. Learn how to connect to loss.
On Monday, three last September our mother has died. A wonderful person with an indomitable spirit and cheerful smile. The reason for this reflection. A reason to be grateful.