Not funny haha. As I recover and dig out from under the happy intensity of the Sacred Lands symposium, my plan was to sit down this evening to catch up on homework. The bombing in Boston has been on my mind, as it must be for most of us. Then I went into town on an errand after lunch. On the way back into my neighborhood I came upon a small group of people by the road. Two were calling 911 and one was sitting with a woman on the ground who I witnessed have a seizure, struggle to breathe and then become glassy-eyed, grey and still. I stood by as EMTs arrived and quickly did their work and took her off in an ambulance. I will probably never know who she was or what happened to her, but I have been with several people within hours or days of their death and this looked all too familiar.
While on the scene I was calm, helpful and respectful. There seemed to be nothing tangible that I could do, but I felt that I gave a ministry of presence. But when I got home I collapsed in tears. I felt that I had come face to face with my own mortality (only this morning I began taking a cholesterol medication). I believe that there are lots worse ways to leave this world than to suffer an apparent heart attack on a gorgeous spring day while walking after lunch with a coworker, as this woman had been doing. Sobering, sad, nevertheless.
Sobering because it was unexpected, sudden, just like the bombing yesterday. Once more, I am reminded of Maat’s balance, the trembling of the fulcrum while it hesitates over which side of the scales to let fall. In response, I remember to pause, breathe, feel my own aliveness, acknowledge its trembling vulnerability, then continue with life, understanding that what is born must die, and what dies will be reborn.