Everyone is so afraid of death, but the real sufis just laugh; nothing tyrannizes their hearts. What strikes the oyster shell does not damage the pearl.
~ Jelaluddin Rumi
There’s mystic beauty in the Kohala mountain range, visible through picture windows overhead. The bluest sky and the kindness of strangers contrast the polished wooden box of ashes draped with mementos and lei. It’s why we carry on, I suppose, with this push/pull paradox of living.
Vigilant for justifications to persevere, we discover hearts strengthened by this young woman’s radiant smile. All that remains is her photograph, yet it still lights up the room. Here, mourning contrasts the clatter of the outside world, carrying on as it does with laughter and petulance; calibrations and artifice. Not yet pared to essentials, it is easy to take others for granted until empty arms no longer embrace the beloved, transcending worlds.
Thus redemption is discovered, not in an imaginary world none of us is sure of, but in the eternal love sensed in the cells, just as every tree and flower lean toward the light and effortlessly surrender temporal bodies to the soil. Our spirits are nourished by the compost of kindness; enlarged through a desire to reach out and comfort another. Grief shakes out the folds of insecurity and judgment, uniting us in what is common to the human experience.
None living are exempt from this cycle of existence. And so we bless you on your journey, dear one, and merge back into the traffic that is our lives.