Today, I have reached the halfway point in 'An Experiment In Conscious Dying.'
From the time Dad was diagnosed with 'that lung cancer' to the moment he took his last breath, his ramble here on earth lasted 104 days. Then I blinked, and he was gone.
I have spent part of this lifetime clinging to the edges - in an attempt to quell the fear of dying.
Since starting out with the experiment I have meditated every morning; the space between the bed and the door has become a sacred place of reflection and stillness. I am learning to let go and trust the process.
'Listen, - perhaps you catch a hint of an ancient state not quite forgotten; dim, perhaps, and yet not altogether unfamiliar, like a song whose name is long forgotten, and the circumstances in whch you heard it completely unremembered. Not the whole song has stayed with you, but just a little wisp of melody, attached not to a person or a place or anything particular. But you remember, from just this little part, how lovely was the song, how wonderful the setting where you heard it, and how you loved those who were there and listened with you.
The notes are nothing. Yet you have kept them with you, not for themselves, but as a soft reminder of what would make you weep if you remembered how dear it was to you. You could remember, yet you are afraid, believing you would lose the world you learned since then. And yet you know that nothing in the world you learned is half so dear as this. Listen, and see if you remember an ancient song you knew so long ago and held more dear than any melody you taught yourself to cherish since.' - ACIM
Supposedly, we think about 55,000 thoughts per day, 2292 per hour, 38 per minute, half a thought per second. Each thought is either fearful or loving. It is really that simple. Every moment; every thought is a golden opportunity to choose one or the other. There is no in-between.
So today, I once again ask myself a question.
What if I had 52 days left to live on Planet Earth? How different would my life look?
52 days to live as if that is all that remains.
Let the experiment in conscious dying continue ...
This picture of Roseberry Topping was made by Dad on his final ramble, before he hung up his walking boots in favour of dying consciously