Pinholes in the night
Lately I’ve found it easy to fall into the corners of myself, shrinking away from the prospect of living fully. A part of me wants to un-birth itself into the void and run from the incredible challenges (neither good nor bad) of being alive.
Days turn to weeks and it seems the sun doesn’t rise. Peppering my landscape like stars in a vast night sky are glimpses of the divine; moments that pierce my crust and touch my heart. I’m still here, so these pin holes in the veil of black must be enough.
I’m fortunate enough (fucking blessed) to have some great friends who meet in the morning to swim, or just immerse, in the cold water once a week. The experience pulls me away from my fears and back towards my loves. Now, with numb fingertips and coffee in my blood, I’m compelled to write about why.
Now that mother nature has defibrillated me, I tell myself the recipe for vitality is simple.
Exposure to nature, to live in the senses and see the reward in discomfort.
Involvement in a community, to see oneself in others and to share the love.
To see the fruits of one’s labour and therefore be able to take pride in work.
To practice creativity in some way - no matter the medium of expression.
And then, the ‘realist’ brain chimes in and says “hey, that’s not all you need”. So, I add:
Having or creating diverse means to secure food, personal safety and shelter.
The right to self-determination and freedom to choose one’s own struggles.
These elements, in no particular order, form the basis for a well-lived life. Some of these points speak to basic needs and others speak to human potential. I believe both of these pursuits are important and neither can be prioritised over and above the other, at least not for long without mutually destructing.
And so we come back to an archaic, emotional question “would you rather live a long life filled with misery or a short life, lived in utter beauty and freedom?” One could argue that survival comes first, because without that, there is no further opportunity to expand oneself. Equally, one could argue that without the ability to expand oneself, survival has no ‘punch’ - no meaning.
I lean towards the latter, because I know that when I am immersed in the wonder of life, my fear of death and dying disappears totally. But the reality is, life rarely feels like a crystal clear choice between two options. It is much more free-form and it can feel less than ordinary.
So length is just one measure of a life. What about depth, breadth and fullness? Even then, this experience almost defies any containers we would put it in. So maybe a better question is “what is the richest way to live?” That is a question we can answer with every choice we have the privilege or misfortune to encounter.
Which life speaks to the infinite, in every finite moment? That’s the life.
Let it be long, let it be short, but most importantly, let it be a life which feels significant to the one living.