I saw these words today (image at left) and there was instant resonance. In addition to all the other significant impedimenta that I’ve been carrying (for some time now), my brother, Daniel Larson, passed away four weeks ago tomorrow (as some of you already know). He had been living—and i mean living in the sense of being more present—with a non-carcinogenic brain tumor for well over a decade.
I do not seek pity here, I do not feel sorry for myself; I have tried those techniques in countless permutations a long time ago. They don’t work effectively in any long-term way. I carry on, not in denial, but highly mindful that we all have expiration dates—it’s just that the exact date is mostly hidden from our awareness. Maybe as it ought to be. As the Buddhists teach, there are only two things of which we can be certain in this life: 1) that we will die, and 2) that we don’t know when. And, as I like to add by borrowing from Maimonides, the rest is commentary.
Here is how I choose to live: I carry on, delighting in the myriad serendipitous little instances of beauty that lie all around us every single day. A sip of coffee. Cold water on the face. Smiles exchanged, silently, with a stranger. The flight of a bee around a garden. I also choose to live knowing that the meaning or non-meaning of the universe is vastly beyond our mere human intellectual understanding. And, while this profundity of unknown meaning may not make sense in the moment, in the long term and on the large scale, it connects organically to something that makes sense somewhere, somehow. It may not be for us to comprehend, ever. Or it may be we do not need to comprehend the now until after we have journeyed through it.
At this point, I carry my burdens because they are mine, mine alone, to carry. I own them, whether they are of my making or have been presented to me. I chose to carry them. And I know that to persevere by traveling on will intuitively bear sweet fruit in time, at least from my own travels.
I sense this ineffable meaning. Perhaps on an atomic level, or even sub-atomic. Joni Mitchell nailed it when she said, “We are stardust. We are golden.”
Returning to Daniel, my brother. I always had premonitions that Elton John’s Daniel would in some way apply to him. In ways of which I held fear and anxiety. But even more so, I recall great and beautiful friendships, the ones in which each friend supports the other, as needed, when needed, in the most human of ways: Ratso Rizzo and Joe Buck. Frodo and Sam Gamgee. I hearken back to the old Hollies song: He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother. Daniel is heavy, yet precisely because he is my brother, I must carry the weight. I want to carry the weight.
I have support, those who are able to carry my weight when I falter. My children (in ways that they don’t even realize), my mom, my other brother, my aunt, my work family, my school family, friends from climbing, friends from yoga, and friends from my travels. Thank you all. Like Lou Gehrig, “today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.”
More likely to come at some point. Processing in progress. Peace and love to all. Gratitude to @angelajeanwellness (Instagram) for sharing the image and sentiment.
You can find Daniel's beautiful and heartfelt obituary, written by his wife and companion, Darla here: Daniel's obituary.
Comments