Sharing is Daring
Sharing our true feelings is the most daring thing we can do. What if I were to tell you that I panic at the thought of death, that I fear that all we really do have is now and now and now, and then those nows are gone forever, that this brief period of time we call life, this crumb of a crumb of eternity, is all we have. Nothing you could say would be able to dispel my doubts, unless it led with, ‘I fear the same thing too.’
Opening yourself and taking what I shared as a dare to spill your own dark collection of thoughts that bring you to sobbing silently into your pillow is the only way to find the truth that runs through it all. Tell me you understand and then tell me what your inner voice says to contradict your worries. That is where we will find solace together.
If I choose to listen, I can hear the truth that settles best within. I’m one of billions of souls who have dwelt on the same concern of immortality. We all are wondering the same thing and it all comes down to whether we will get to be with those we have loved in this life on the other side. The fear is not of death itself but of what it brings, if anything.
Then what could be the meaning of only getting to love someone for such a short time as a mere human lifespan, when love seems to be the ultimate experience to live and give while we are here?
I think our minds are too ensconced in the here and now to comprehend that our hearts and our souls can’t be separated. It’s as if we are asking a question that we have yet to learn the language of the answer. We want it in black and white. Maybe we were born with faith as inherent as the natal instinct to cry when we are hungry, but along the way, just when we need it the most, it’s nowhere to be found.
I was brought up as a Christian, but when I was old enough to really understand what that meant, I could no longer say that I was a Christian because I didn’t believe that “those who don’t believe Jesus is their God and Savior will burn in hell for all eternity,” as my bible school teacher explained. And, “that’s why we have missionaries.”
I eventually turned to the exploration of other religions and sought out proofs that I never failed to doubt no matter how well their pieces fit. If I could whittle down everything I didn’t believe then maybe I would be able to make some sense out of what was left. Yet it turned out to be a confusing history lesson of the evolution of religion more than anything else. While our ancestors saw twilight as the death of the sun god and dawn as his rebirth, little did they know the sun was there all along just a few hours beyond the horizon. Have our own horizons grown any closer?
I don’t think I am capable or even meant to know the truth to it all, but part of me believes that the truth is ready to be found everywhere at once if we can learn how to see it, to learn the eternal language of the universe. It starts with being able to take something as simple as a drop of rain and trace its experience from cloud to land and back again. It mingles with others in lakes and oceans before taking to the sky and joining with the others again before falling back to the earth.
So when is the rain drop really a single drop of rain and not part of a greater whole, other than the brief moment that it takes to fall from the sky? And even in this moment it is never alone as it is impossible for a single drop of rain to form a cloud to fall from. Maybe, like the rain, we continue to fall together, and after our time is up, after we’ve nourished a sapling that will shade several generations, or melted from a snowcapped mountain and rode its river back to the sea, we coalesce again and cleave to each other as we rise as one until we must take that fall again.
If we are so lucky as to be given the same destiny as a raindrop I would be content. It would mean that my chance of reuniting with my loved ones were as limited as the sky, which my heart could easily contain in one small corner were it allowed to be free of the limitations of my mind.
So here I am baring innermost thoughts as if they were curios strapped to my body beneath a wrinkled trench coat. Please look closely and see if you recognize anything familiar, as nothing dissipates the delusion of being alone with your doubts like hearing, “Me too.’ And In the spirit of hope that when one mind opens, another one opens too, share them with someone. I double-dog dare you.