There are moments that suddenly stop you and you sense your place in the order of things. I had that moment the other day at mass, sitting there next to my beloved, realizing that someday they’ll read my name, as part of the prayers for all those who have died. Maybe it’s tomorrow, maybe it’s 50 more years from now. But the truth is, I’ll cease to exist. And sitting there, in the silence and stillness, the truth swirled through me that I’m just a speck of stardust…but our light carries on long after we leave this form. Here’s the poem that came across my heart…
A Speck of Stardust
By Lisa McCrohan
I’m in mass listening to the Prayers of the Faithful being read,
the time when we bring forth our prayers.
I’m savoring the silence, the chance to be still, when
the lector reads, “…and for all those who have died, especially…”
And I hear a whisper from within me, “Someday, your name will be read.”
I think about the mass soon after I have passed away.
How old will my children be? How will they respond to hearing my name?
I’m sure there’ll be people in the pews who don’t bat an eye,
don’t recognize the name, are bored, ready for mass to end.
One mass, one time, one little moment, my name will be read;
the sound wave of my name travels in all directions
for a short moment until it reaches Silence,
dissipates, and new sounds arise.
Somehow this seems fine, even perfect, and how it “should be.”
I am aware now, sitting here at mass, quiet, next to my beloved,
how I am one grain of sand on a beach that stretches to limitless ends,
one speck of stardust in an infinite universe.
It “rights” my thinking, nestles me into my place across time.
I look at my beloved.
I feel the heat of our hands touching, I hear the cantor now singing.
Just a few generations from now no one will exist who
remembers me in form, who felt my touch,
felt the palpable sweetness between me and my beloved,
knew the exact way my eyes lit up seeing my children.
It makes this moment a sacred opportunity,
this moment that I am still in form, with arms to hug,
eyes to behold, words to whisper, like,
“I love you” and “please forgive me.”
I have no idea what happens
when the memory of each of us fades, as if we never existed.
But somehow, I believe that our sound is carried in the sweet song
of our great grandchildren humming a lullaby,
our touch is felt in the gentle way our descendants walk on this earth,
and the one speck of light we are
finds its way into the hearts of all we have beheld
and illuminates the path to Love
until we all return to Silence.
Lisa McCrohan, MA, LCSW-C, SEP
********
We don’t really talk much about death and dying, do we? Yet one of the “givens” in life is that everything is impermanent. Everything and everyone will someday cease to exist. I remembering hearing this quote, something like, “remember, in a hundred years, all new people.”
Over the last few years, in those exuberant-beyond-any-joy-I’ve-ever-felt moments of birthing babies, I have also felt “death” as my constant companion. We have an exact number of breaths we will take. From that first breath we take as newborns, we are one breath closer to our last one. This doesn’t have to scare us. It can call our attention to what is most important.
When we remember our impermanence, we remember our place in the order of things.
When we remember our impermanence, we can wake up and choose how we want to live THIS moment.
And I know for me, in some of my moments, I could say, “No big deal” and let go of trying to control it all. There are other moments when I can wake up and say, “THIS. This is important. Look. Turn toward your dear one and look!”
And that one moment can change everything.
It can change how we go about our lives and it can change the lives of all our descendants to come. Because…
We are only one speck of stardust and yet, as the poet Rumi says, “In your light I learn how to love.” In our light our children learn how to love, how to hold this world with gentleness, how to look at themselves and see such beauty, and how to see the light in others. And it happens in MOMENTS.
So can we go about our days with this “larger perspective” in mind? Can we say to the mess of Legos on the familyroom floor, “No big deal?” Can we see our child sitting on the familyroom floor playing with the Legos and hear the invitation, “THIS. This is important. Look. Turn toward him and look?”
Can we say “no big deal” to the stuff that seemed so necessary to achieve years ago? Like a bigger house, a larger salary? And can we say “THIS. This is important” to the stuff that keeps calling to us, keeps whispering for us to shine our light?
I have some light to shine. I have some noticing and looking to do.
How about you? I’d imagine that you sense a deeper calling within you to shine your light. And THAT is important, critical, VITAL to your soul’s happiness. It’s vital to our world. I’ve seen it in the lives of coaching and psychotherapy clients — when we embrace the reality of impermanence, it makes this moment sacred, an opportunity to choose to shine our light. It’s not about putting pressure on ourselves; it’s about embracing the gift of this moment and shining YOUR light.
And friends, it’s your speck of stardust that the world needs. So shine on. Shine in the exuberant and quiet ways your Heart calls to you.
We are each one speck of stardust. And yet, we need each and every one of our lights. Let “death” be a gentle reminder of the preciousness of life – YOUR life…and this holy now to live according to your Soul’s truth.
Blessings,
I am a new reader of your blog and I have to tell you…I love everything you write, but especially this. Noticing impermanence… Death…has been my practice for some time now. That slight shift of perception that changes everything.
Thank you for writing this!
Thank you, Marcea! I’m glad you are here and that what I write resonates with you. Thank you for commenting. Yes, reflecting on death has been a practice of mine for about seven years now. It has really challenged me and ultimately freed me. Love to you, Lisa
Dear Lisa
I like how you say” it ‘rigts my thinking ” and nests you into your own place in time.
This surely allows you a unique perspective and a creative distance into how life flows.
Wonderfully written and MOST needed to be reminded of.
Prace and joy be yours
Mary
Thank you, mom. You are right on — it helps to get some “creative distance” and therefore insight into how life flows. “Arms length” as you say. Love, Lisa
You always inspire me to stop and pause. I feel so connected! <3
Jodi, this is how I feel about your work! You are “on fire,” dear colleague, friend, fellow mindful mom. I’m blessed to be connected with you.
Lisa
Dear Lisa,
Thank you for your inspiring poems, thoughts, insights, and revelations. I get so bombarded with emails and don’t have the time to look at them all, but i do savour the time I can stop, pause, read your’s, and reflect on life. Yes, the MOMENT is important, for me, for my beloved, and for my kiddos. I love the Legos on the floor, the books strewn about, and the empty boxes that get dragged and pushed around our home. I look around at what once I would have called a mess, and now I just feel love and know we live here, imperfect, but loved in the most beautiful, way. We are all the best version of ourselves at the moment. I embrace that!! Thank you sweetness for shining your light on Earth. xx
Thank you, Jodie. I’m so very grateful that you took a moment to share this with me. I know how it is to be bombarded with emails all the time. All of our “in boxes” are full, I know. Yes, I savor those moments, too, when I choose to pause and read something that is inspiring, uplifting, and supports me in living with more mindfulness and compassion. I’m glad this post spoke to you and inspired a sweet moment of reflection. I am TRYING to be ok with all the Legos on the floor, books all about, etc! I try to reframe how i look at it – yes, instead of a “mess” i’m looking at it as just us being playful and having a rich life.
Thank you, Jodie, for your kind words. They support and uplift me as a mom and writer.
Blessings,
Lisa