The Beauty of This Life

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I am not old.. she said
I am rare.

I am the standing ovation
At the end of the play.

I am the retrospective
Of my life as art

I am the hours
Connected like dots
Into good sense

I am the fullness
Of existing.

You think I am waiting to die..
But I am waiting to be found

I am a treasure.
I am a map.

And these wrinkles are
Imprints of my journey

Ask me anything.

~ Samantha Reynolds

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.”

~Marc Chagall

We are in the afterlife now. We died to another world when we came here. When we are done with this world we are born into another — Robert Moss

When I was in my early twenties, two people close to me died a few years apart. Both deaths were quasi suicides, and by that I mean I could see how they both had given up on life so that a fatal accident was waiting to happen. The unresolved question for them both was love, both healthy self love and the love of relationship.

I was young, and this kind of event was the last thing I anticipated, especially hitting so close to home, to family members. They just disappeared into oblivion, leaving a thousand unanswered questions.

Questions such as how to live so that one never has to live without creating the truest form of love and life meaning possible. Questions like where did they go, will I ever see them again? I needed to apologize for not understanding their plight in this world. I needed to at the very least say a proper goodbye.

That was the beginning of my “sentimental education,” as some might call it. I have focussed my life on creating beauty and installing love in the most real and durable form I could manifest.

Of course I can’t verify Robert Moss’s statement about being born into successive worlds. He has the benefit of several near death experiences. I hope it’s true though, and I hope each paradigm is as infused with love and beauty as this one.

Our mission, if we can fulfill it, is to live fully, deeply, like the woman in the photograph above. The meaning of life is in the living.

It’s still an inexplicable shock when someone young dies, especially when they die because they have given up on life for some reason. Why does a young person give up on life, someone still physically well and vibrant even? Maybe I can ask that because I have never given up on love. If you really see no way that love and a sense of meaning are ever going to enter your life, then I can imagine it would be hard to go forward.

From that time on, I started to fight for myself differently. I disregarded discouragement, I drove more carefully, I took better care of my body, I refused destructive relationships, I paid better attention to my own thoughts and feelings to drive out self critical and self destructive thinking. Yes, I went overboard, I overreacted because I was young and ignorant and I was already full of neuroses that could have sent me into the swamp.

Death is a mystery for everyone. Speculation abounds, even among the cynics who assert that everything just goes black as the curtain goes down. But existence is so shot through with beauty that death probably can’t escape it either. In any case, in spite of the fact that I am still shocked by death, even if it’s my neighbor’s cat, I think that we are all loved and that we are built from building blocks of love. It’s doubtful to me that any being will be suddenly abandoned to oblivion in the natural course of things. I think that’s not a very imaginative vision of the world we live in.

I’m not going to tell you that you’ll be handed a harp and some celestial real estate when you pass over, but I do believe the mystery continues somehow.

Written by

I occasionally write fiction and also about creativity, loving, language learning and travel. I’m a longtime painter and reader.

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