Maybe it’s because I’ll be turning 40 in a year.  Maybe it’s because there’s this tender “knowing” rising up into my conscious mind, influencing even my mundane everyday decisions.  Maybe it’s because giving birth brought me to my most raw, vulnerable, warrior, grace-surrending self.  Maybe because I’ve survived six years of parenthood.  Maybe it’s because touching life so tenderly every day in two growing, beautiful children makes me touch the reality of life’s companion, death.  Maybe it’s all of these and more I can’t name quite yet happening within me.

But I get it:  THIS IS IT.  This life will end.  Maybe not tomorrow or next year.  Maybe not for another 40 years.  But me, you, we are all of the nature to grow old and ca-puuuut.  I don’t know when that last breath will be.  I don’t know for certain if I’ll see my children grow old and have babies and I’ll be that grandmother holding her grandchildren with wise eyes and slow hands.  When I get in the car to commute down 270, I don’t know if the goodnight kiss I gave my husband the night before will be the last one.  I just don’t know.

In this culture, we loath aging.  We don’t talk about dying.  And so we live in a way where we take it all for granted.  Or at least many of us do.  I do — more than I care to admit.  But the truth is that there’s no getting around it — we will cease to exist.  All we love, cherish…it’ll all end some day.

But this doesn’t have to be a downer.  Over the last six years, something in me has been consciously aware of and quietly noticing…sitting back and reaalllly watching this life and hearing Her whispers.  “This is it, Lisa.  Bless it.  Notice it.  Live it.  Let it go.”

Even in my early thirties, though of course, I “knew” we all die, that fact never really seeped into my conscious awareness and my everyday actions.  Still today, I act like I have forever.  But more and more, I see how there is an end approaching.  It doesn’t really matter what I believe happens after this life, the fact is that THIS life, this very one, will cease to exist.

And somehow, in that sitting, in that knowing, in that allowing of death to “come closer,” I am being transformed.  And it has prompted me to live.  To live more fully, ferociously, quietly, contently, honestly, gently, and…tenderly.

How?

One way:  I am facing my fears.  I have always been petrified of snakes, ever since a baaaad dream about them when I was a child.  Aware of how, in many cultures, the snake represents the feminine in all her power, I have sat in meditation many-a-times drawing closer and closer to that powerful, sensual Feminine force…within me and the Divine.  But still scared. Until a week ago.

I had a dream where my two year old, old-soul daughter was holding a snake.  It was wrapped around her arms and shoulders.  She was completely enthralled, even content and “at home.”  She told me the snake just wanted to nuzzle up next to her for warmth and comfort.  And she was happy to oblige.

Fast forward a few days.  We were our amazing local nature center for a birthday party.  I knew they’d bring out the animals, including snakes.  I decided that when it came around to it, I’d hold the snake.  And I did.

facing my fear! holding a snake

Petrified, I breathed.  I opened up to letting go of the past stories I’ve told myself about snakes.  I opened up to having no expectation or hope for the future about me and snakes.  I just opened up to THAT VERY MOMENT of holding the snake — with no past, no future.  Just noticing and being present to the sensations of holding this snake.  And it was….ok.  I noticed how strong this little snake was — how she wrapped herself around my arm.  I noticed how she moved so slowly and gracefully and quietly…and purposefully.

Now a week later, something in me is changing.  I still don’t know what it is quite yet.  Maybe it’s more of Life and Death and the Divine whispering: “Wake up, sweet Love.  It’s time.”  Maybe it’s the quietness of fear dissolving, illusions fading:  “I could run into a snake and not be freaked out.”  Maybe it’s truth and true power rising:  “This is your life, Lisa.  Notice it.  Hold it.  Bless it.  And let it go.”

So I am.  Day by day.