But here's the thing: I realized that my own sanity is more important than work. I don't want to miss out on time with my family, especially since my mom still lives with us and we take care of her. So, I decided to take a step back and not work as hard anymore. Easy…right?
And I feel like we’ve missed the chance to learn some profound truth, that we’ve turned away from some universal doorway that led to a better place. Everybody wants to get back to “normal,” and I can’t shake the feeling that “normal” just ain’t that great.
It seems unlikely that anyone would thrive in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, and yet here I sit, and here I grow, a lot like that pesky weed that keeps cropping up in the crack in the sidewalk. In the most odd environment, life is present.
The gentle rocking of the universe and the lullaby that sings, “I am here. You are safe.”
Death is an incontrovertible part of life.
Why do we struggle so? What is it about this final veil--the veil which separates forever the living from the dead--that causes us to beat our flying fists against it so firmly, so resolute with no result? If death is a part of life, why does it hurt so much?
Have you ever seen Hoarders? It's a show on A&E which takes an in-depth look at people who are victims of a difficult pattern of excessive collecting which usually leads to the hoarder possessing large amounts of objects. Perhaps you have a family member who is a hoarder, or maybe you are one.
