When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
~Mary Oliver
Our service this week took the form of a memorial and celebration of the life of Saille, our Amida-shu friend from Canada, whose dance with cancer came to a rest recently. Memories were shared, a few syncopated jazz nembutsu were chanted among the homages to Quan Shi Yin. A lot of people will carry her in their hearts.
From Saille: “— and so my dear friends, I hope you will each choose to journey with me on your own ride, walk, jump, dance, skip of this one wild and precious life that we have each been given. I will meet you there —“
