Death.

I think about it a lot, perhaps because of being in the sixth decade of life—Fewer moments left ahead than behind.

We consider death a mystery, and yet it is present with us every moment as a thought or feeling, sensation or perception–or the moment itself–arrives and passes away. There is no life without death.

I soak in the hot tub with my head propped on the edge, taking note of the waxing moon’s angle, the placement of the few constellations I recognize. Then noticing turns inward, resting as unchanging awareness that has no opinions, no voice, no beginning or end—wide awake, alive emptiness.

When death arrives, that ground of awareness will remain just as it is, untouched, eternal and infinite. What leaves is the point of view, nothing more.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
photo from our home in Oregon