lo di che han detto addio

I am going away soon, and have been feeling that it must be a little similar to dying. When you get past the pain, the awareness of life it gives you is beautiful. I wouldn't want to live like this always, but it is nice for the moment, and necessary. Probably dying is its own separate thing, and needs its own courage.

When I let go trying to hold onto what will soon be no longer mine, there's a sense in which it's more mine and more beautiful and I'm more aware of it for not trying to cling to it. And I can be grateful for the hours, or moments that are allotted to me as sheerly superfluous grace.

I feel like I'm noticing things more, and am being grateful for them (not just "grateful," but being grateful in an active way). I see people around town and think how silly some of my former dislikes of them were, and am filled with an expansive love for humanity for being so much like me. My old dog is sitting on my feet, snoring, and I love him for it.

It becomes so much easier to tell people you love them, because you know it's the essential thing, but also harder, because you know it will sound trite and not convey what you really mean: that you--love them.

I have felt so much wonder for light, for the sunshine and sky. I feel sometimes as though I had just returned, and was rediscovering the beauty of my home. We've had lovely sunsets lately. "With you is the fountain of life, and in your light we see light."

It must be a little like death. But death is a prerequisite to resurrection.