Being Mortal

Being Mortal

   My wife recently asked me, what was my fascination with medical books these past few weeks?  On Becoming A Medical Examiner, The Cost of Cutting, God's Hotel and now, Atul Gawande's latest, Being Mortal.  And truthfully, the answer is...I don't know.  Perhaps it was the passing of my aunt, or that my own mother is nearing 90, or that my friends' mothers and brothers are all nearing the end of their lives.  Or maybe it was the watching of the National Geographic special on Judas with Jesus telling the Apostles, you have no idea.

   Indeed, the more I read about our bodies, the more mysterious it seems, as if opening one door of discovery simply leads to another more complicated door.  Go deeper, go farther, go smaller, it doesn't seem to matter.  The wonders are everywhere.  The magazine onearth (a publication of the Natural Resources Defense Council) featured an essay by Bruce Stutz titled "Flying Blind;"  it was a tale of his flight from JFK to LAX, his views (or non-views) of the earth from above:  No matter how often I fly, when I look out, my forehead pressed against the window’s upper edge, I’m always amazed at how flat the flatlands are, how gnarly the canyons, and how spectacular the shimmering mountain snows.  I’m amazed to fly through rising cumulus and to track the shadows of drifting cirrus.  If the skies are clear, they give me a chance to review the places that over the years I’ve traveled by road or on foot and make me realize just how many places I still want to see.  The view from the air puts the landscape in perspective. Amelia Earhart once said, “You haven’t seen a tree until you’ve seen its shadow from the sky.” I would say you haven’t seen a river until you’ve tracked its meanderings from the sky.

   Of course, this wasn't what he would see, for once the plane left the ground, the shades went down, the flight attendants encouraging this.  Darken the cabin, shut out the light.  As Stutz says: I felt as if I were in a flying tomb or part of a sensory deprivation experiment. How could all these people have so little interest in viewing the landscape from 30,000 feet? Could they really not care what was out there? After all, as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote back in 1939, “The airplane has revealed for us the true face of the earth.”  As you'll see, the link to his article is subtitled, "Put down your iPhone and look out the window already."

   It seems at times that the world does just float away below and around us, the mice run around the bushes, the birds shake off the snow, the earthworms and ants and bees stay comfortably warm underground.  It is all happening, daily, hourly, each second, and yet we often jump in our cars, make a grocery run, walk the dog, eat, sleep and repeat.  As with our heart beating, we can easily forget that all those things are there, small wonders, large miracles...

   A recent article appeared in my local free monthly paper, an excellent 4-decade old publication titled, The Catalyst.  In this particular self-written article, Sue Allison describes her near death (or fear of impending death) at the hands of a mentally ill kidnapper, one who held 10 people hostage and was ready to kill them one by one.  ...there was no judgement.  There was no praise or reward for having been "good" nor was there punishment or recrimination for having been "bad."  I was reminded that my human experience had been orchestrated to remind me of my soul's purpose: to express a love of life, love of self and love of others...a question came to me: "What have you really done with your life?"  "Not enough!  Not enough!," I responded, realizing it was too late to change the truth. The question had nothing to do with "good deeds" during my human life; it was about expanding my consciousness and demonstrating my authentic soul.  I was reminded that my actions on Earth impacted me and everything in existence.

   It all boils down to time, doesn't it?  Time and paying attention.  Listening to what calls you and what's out there, everywhere.  Life is short, whether you're thirty or sixty.  I can see that as I read, the medical world seeing life ebb and flow so often that perhaps even they lose a bit of its precious perspective.  Life goes on, as we say, and yes, there's IS the shopping to do and the food to cook.  But for me, this burst of medical reading is serving as a reminder to open that window shade, to look out, not only from above but from all around.  The wonders are right in front of us, often as simple as the leaves blowing in front of our cars.  And our lives, perhaps in the bigger scheme of things becoming little more than one of those leaves sailing by, is nonetheless a part of it all...and we shouldn't miss that.