What it all means

Of coarse, losing someone I love so much makes me ask the endless question, what does life mean? What is the point of coming here and loving when we will all die? Everything will die? I wonder if I will ever come to terms with this, if I will see the beauty in it like the masters who accept the leaves falling from the tree and going back to the soil as a metaphor for their lives as well.  

So beautiful to have been the dark, warm space for you to grow, one cell at a time, to make a heart that started beating and blood running in beautiful, branching arteries and veins all through you, the bones of your fingers, your toes, your legs, your eyes, all coming to be, all perfect, and then to have it all stop. And die. After all that mysterious creation, you go back to the earth, you become ash.

These words from a Blackfoot Indian Chief, Isapwo Mukisika Crowfoot, eases my heart and my thoughts.  He whispered this as he lay dying, 

What is life?

It is the flash of a firefly in the night,

It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time,

It is the little shadow that runs across the grass

And loses itself in the sunset.

And so you are my love, and so am I.