As you reach maturation and fall ripe to the ground, the Idea of You reshapes itself. There’s a slight chance it will carry on whatever you think you’ve begun. But the Idea of You is fluid. It may not assume the familiar forms you intended. The Voracious and Holy Inconsistency creates and annihilates simultaneously. Not all soil is loamy and receptive. Not all fire is friendly.
The elements of forgiveness and generosity are among the scarcest rare earth minerals, and ironically, they need not be that scarce. It’s a matter of choice and sacrifice, consciousness and compassion.
Take time to stare out the ever-shrinking sliver of glass facing the river. Assess your motives. Examine your values. To be still and know you’re doing your best is the mark of a well-lived life.
Ever so gently, the Coauthor will settle beside you and whisper, “And accepting your mortality with grace is the capstone.”
At such junctures, it is tempting to reply with a snarky comment. Make eye contact, but do not respond. It’s hard to speak wisely in such circumstances. And often unnecessary.
Today seems unlikely to be your last, but of course, there will be a day when this isn’t true. This is an inconceivable but undeniable consistency you admit to yourself. I will come to an end.
“Truth,” the Holy Inconsistency nods. “So what’s the game plan?”
“Game plan?” you ask, uncertain you possess the moxie to even face the day, let alone participate as a player.
A nearby mousetrap snaps.
You wince and roll your eyes. “Do you have to be so literal? So obvious?”
As the frantic scratching slows and stops, the Coauthor rises. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
The Spirit of the Coauthor mingles with the spirit of the mouse. The spirits of deer, elk, moose, antelope—all lifted as they fall. It’s hunting season. Obliteration. Regeneration. The truths of life meet the absolutes of death, and they arrive at a beautiful truce.
The meal is blessed long before you partake. The time at hand will include planting bulbs, adding compost, and shaping the soil for next year’s garden. So it is. So it has been. And so it will be. Forever and ever. Amen.
