Updated: Jun 3
Now more than anytime in my recent memory, I see the relevance of this thought. What will be left of me when I die? Will there be stories told, will anyone remember anything? It really doesn't matter...because I will be dead. This topic is simple, and I don’t need to cover it with excessive anecdotes and conjecture. The moment of how I die is much less important than the moments I spend living. I have no control over the dying part, it is going to happen, it is unpreventable, but what I do have control over, are my moments of living. I am living daily in an attempt to help my fellow humans not be afraid to die, not be afraid to suffer or get sick, but experience joy, pleasure and welcome and experience new parts of themselves and on and on. I do this not only professionally but I do it because I believe in this way of living and it is my way of living. Do I do this perfectly, fuck no, some days I do ok, and other days I suck, but what matters is that I am trying. And since I do not fear death, this gives me freedom to live in other ways, I take risks, yes risks, I drive too fast, I have laid my hands on sick and unclean people, I question authority, I question sources of information, I question everyone who seems to be an expert and when I don’t agree I make my own decisions, I am not afraid of punishment or condemnation, I live unafraid of outcomes because I am adaptable and can deal with whatever comes my way, always. I will be forced to wear a mask, I will be forced off the beach, I will be dragged away kicking and screaming when my consciousness and common sense is being violated. I will not go willingly. This is how I live and this is how I train and this is how I teach. I live with passion and love which can be messy and dirty, but that is life and therefore I have nothing to fear, especially death. So, what is your answer, are you living or are you dying?
Peace, Love, Rescue,