My Life As My Currency

The question isn’t whether or not each of us will spend a portion of our human grief in the grand marketplace of a human incarnation.

The question is, to what degree will we spend that grief on matters worthwhile?

So, when I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so, knowing that I spoke that which needed to be spoken by me.  May I do so, knowing that I offered the naked fullness of my heart and mind to those whom destiny appointed to my care; that I left nothing lurking behind the veils of withholding, misunderstanding, incompletion.  May I do so, knowing that something of an uncompromising honesty saturated my very being and necessarily spilled itself into each of my relationships; that for better or for worse, my outer world was something of a clear window into the truths of my inner world.

When I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so, knowing that my love always spoke louder than my petty resentments, louder than my egotistical attachments, louder than my bloated self-righteousness.  And if I can’t know that my love always spoke louder, may I at least know that it always spoke last.  May I know that it moved quickly to amend any savagery of my tongue, to dissolve any bitterness of my heart.  May I know that love’s activity so defined my beingness that hindsight could only reveal something of a kindness, pressing any memory of discord to the sidelines.  May I know that hindsight could only betray a smile on my lips, a gentleness in my eyes.

When I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so, knowing that I was a courageous actor in my life’s drama, true to the role which I, uniquely, was assigned to play, not by the narrow dictates of a narrow society, but by the expansive promptings of an expansive God, promptings common to every attentive, human heart.  May I know that I was true to the role which I, uniquely, was assigned to play, though I may be chastised, though I may be misunderstood, though I may be rejected.  May I know that I was true to the role which I, uniquely, was assigned to play, trusting when the final curtain fell, whether within the purview of this lifetime or beyond visibility altogether, that my role contributed something of value to the greater whole.

And when I come face-to-face with grief, May I do so, knowing that I applauded the courageous actors who joined me.  May I do so knowing that I cheered for another who played the role which he or she, uniquely, was assigned to play, even if that role seemed to be as my antagonist.  May I know that I sought nothing beyond full acceptance of my brother, of my sister – an acceptance which transcends even my ability to fully understand.

When I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so, knowing that I have no debts owed to another and that no other has debts owed to me.  May I know that all souls are just as free in the rich middle moments of life as they are in the moments of birth and death, and may I release all others and myself alike into the purity and freedom which such an awareness grants.  May I know that the ultimate activities of justice and balance and karma are trustworthy - operating just fine, completely independent from my countless, babbling opinions about how the mechanisms that hold the entire universe together could be better.

When I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so, fully spent in the expression of self.  May I do so exhausted from the full and unrestricted givingness of my inner world to my greater world.  May I do so wearied from the countless forms of genius which pressed for their own expression in me, through me, as me.  When I come face-to-face with grief, may I do so knowing that the world suffered no ill from my withholding, from my reserving, from my suppressing.  May I do so knowing that, if I had it, you got it.

When I come face-to-face with grief, let me do so, knowing that I loved well.  Let me do so knowing that I laid myself open to the full range of human vulnerabilities.  Let me do so, knowing that it was an all-in, all-out, all-or-nothing, all-systems-go, on-the-line, no-turning-back, no-holds-barred kind of venture.

When I come face-to-face with grief, let it be for my brazen attempt at something really ostentatious.  Let it be for my bold leap toward something really noble.  Let it be for my grandiose vision of something really beautiful.  When I come face-to-face with grief, let it be for the countless ways in which I reached; never for the countless ways in which I remained immune to failure.

And when I come face-to-face with grief, let me do so, immersed in the emancipating knowledge that I did my best.  Let me do so, free from the countless ways in which I punish myself for learning and growing beyond what was previously possible for me.  Let me do so, free from the endless vehicles of masochistic torture which I employ in and against my own mind.  Let me do so, free from anything less than the full embrace worthy of God itself, exploring and expressing as me.

Inherent within any human incarnation is the night, without which our day would cease to have relevance; the shadow, without which our light would cease to have beauty; the ending, without which our beginning would cease to have energy.

The question is to what degree will we spend our grief on matters worthwhile?

To what degree will we spend our grief on a heart conditionally given, a mind partially-expressed, a life half-lived.

So, when I come face-to-face with grief, let it be unfettered from any withhold, misunderstanding, incompletion.  Let it be unfettered from any petty resentments, egotistical attachments, bloated self-righteousness.  Let it be unfettered from the endless questioning of any life lived without courage, the tenacious bitterness of every life lived outside kindness.  Let it be unfettered from the staggering weights of debt, from the bitter cruelties of regret.

When I come face-to-face with grief, let me know that I spent my full portion well.  Let me know that I spent my full portion on something pure, something holy.  Let me know that l spent my full portion on matters worthwhile.