By: Rebecca Liston
One day, Dear Reader, I shall die.
In my cellular memory, I hold a deep knowing of what that Passage shall be like. I am not afraid of that Passage, even though I am sad when I think of leaving all of “this” behind (for I really do enjoy this Planet we call Home…and my kids are really great…and I picked a super family this time ‘round…and there’s watermelon and thai food and those tiny wee squares of chocolate wrapped in the prettily-coloured foil that make me smile…but I digress.)
One day I shall die. And in my Knowing, I know that I shall have the sheer delight of being able to look back at this gorgeous lifetime as though witnessing it all from a distance. I shall see the Web that was my Life – the choices and decisions and how they each lead from A to B and onward to Z. I shall see the intersections with each of you, the moments we spoke, the times our lives touched one another’s. And the Web of my Life, will have, in some small way, impacted yours just as yours will have impacted my own. And I will see it, there, laid out before me, all of our Webs interwoven in this glorious, intricate, and magical dance and it will bring me nothing but sheer delight.
Sometimes I will smile. I will point at things that I can see in our Webs and I will giggle a bit at the whole “you can’t make this stuff up” way that things played out. That time I turned right instead of left and met my husband. That time when I just happened to meet a King, and my life changed forever. That moment I looked up from my seat on the subway, met your eye, and exchanged a lifetime of stories in 32.6 seconds. Oh how fun! How masterful! How perfect! My goodness but we had a good time, didn’t we?
Sometimes I will be more melancholic as I gaze upon our Webs, recognizing how something that I said or did or wrote or thought hurt you. And I will nod my head in recognition of that moment and whisper, “Yep, I did that. I am sorry.” And I expect that you, still here on this Planet, will feel my apology rippling through the ethers and it is my hope that it will make a difference somehow.
And there will be times that I shall look and see there, laid before me in these Webs, the moments in which I was hurt by another. Moments in which I was shushed or pushed down. Moments in which my trust was betrayed. Moments in which I felt I had nowhere to turn. I will feel sadness as I look upon them. Frustration. Anger will pass through me. And I will breathe with recognition that these Moments, too, were masterful and perfect in their very own ways.
And as these Webs of Life are displayed before me, like some sort of holographic series of lights and colours, I will in the end be overwhelmed with one deep, deep Knowing…a Thought that eluded me at times in my Life will elude me no more for in that Moment I will Know it as Truth:
And so, Dear Reader, do You.
The way you do a jig as you reach for the milk in the fridge. That funny little song you sing when you think no one is listening. The way you frowned when you saw all the crappy lettuce at the supermarket yesterday. The two bucks you slipped to your grandchild when no one was watching.
That time you worked late and bought sandwiches for all the staff. The time you held the elevator for that woman who looked like she’d been wrung out by life. That tip you left. That smile you offered. That extra few minutes you spent each day, reading aloud to anyone who wanted to listen.
The work you do. The gift of Self you bring to every encounter. The way you wear that jaunty scarf you brought back from Scotland. The way you talk…and explain…and touch…and love. Those hugs you give. Oh! Those hugs! Those tears you shed. Those fears you feel. That grief you’re still processing, 13 long years later.
In every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of your blessed life: You matter.
And may you never forget it.
Rebecca Liston is cofounder and business intuitive at Las Peregrinas, a creative and consulting agency. She specializes in anchoring folks in a clear-eyed understanding of which path is theirs for the taking. She’s got one foot in the land of the subtle and unseen, and the other foot firmly planted in the land of ruthless pragmatism. Oh, and she swears like a sailor, which makes us love her more.
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