It’s 2015 and I’ve never written a blog. A quick internet search reveals that weblogs began somewhere between 1994 and 1997. So, at the most modest estimate, I’ve had 18 years to jump on this train as it’s been zooming by me. In other words, my first blog would be graduating from high school this year had I birthed her at the conceptual period of blogging.
Speaking of birth, periods, and conception, I’ve decided that the best place to start a blog is with a mother. All mothers in particular and my mother in specific. Above is a photo that we took a few days ago.
My mother is dying. That’s an oxygen tube that is running around her ears and entering her nose. Diana, my mom, was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer about a year & a half ago. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epithelioid_hemangioendothelioma) It’s rare, but there’s a woman who’s been living with it for 12 years and has become rather famous in the wellness world for her nutritional approach to handling her tumors. I bought my mom and I each a copy of her book immediately after her diagnosis. My sister-in-law bought her a NutriBullet for daily green smoothies. My mom is still dying.
In yoga, the body is described as “that which is decaying.” It’s a gruesome image, I know. But, it’s accurate. Even from the very moment we are born, there are cells that begin dying. There are special little circulatory pathways (the ductus venosus and ductus arteriosus) in a fetus that are no longer needed once the baby is breathing with it’s own lungs. The cells of those pathways begin to die immediately after the lungs & respiration kick in. Cool, huh? In that weird science sort of way.
So, the lungs kick in and the life force surges. We live every single moment until we die. Or do we? Do we some days tune out and go about our habitual routines on autopilot? Do we sometimes not want to get out of bed? Do we get caught up in the “not have enough” mentality that we forget that we have the most precious thing of all? Life.
We are dying as soon as we are born. The moment of death, however, is as mysterious as ever. I don’t know when my mom’s turn is. Maybe she’ll have a miracle healing. Maybe it will be in six months. Maybe tonight. None of us know.
And so here I am today, beginning again to live each moment.
Owner, Reden Yoga