Do not mourn for me

When I die no one should miss me, no one should be sad. I want to vanish into the everything and nothingness where the root of all lies. Back to where I came from. I will never be alone: if I am not alone here, even less there!

When I die, there is no reason to cry, no reason to mourn. Not even for the usual 10 minutes people mourn for. For I have lived that way I've wanted. I have lived what I was meant to live. for i have enjoyed it, loved it, felt it. Yes, I have felt and I have loved. I have been both selfish and generous, self-absorbed and yet compassionate.

I am not afraid! Fear is unnecessary, redundant, and unwise. Death is nothing but our return to the womb of the universe, where there is boundless energy and unlimited potential. There we all are one, one and the same. There, we are not brothers and sisters, father and son, we are not friends or enemies, nor lovers or sinners. We are the source.

No! Do not mourn for me when I die. If anything, celebrate the instant that we shared in life.

Big Basin

I lie down on the wet redwood forest soil and rest there for what seems a brief moment, long enough to cool down after a two-hour hike. It is a bright and rainy day. There is no wind and M. and I do not mind getting a little wet as long as it is not too cold. We stop here and enjoy the view silently, each at our own spot. I am afraid that if I rest any longer I won’t be able to get up. Darkness is fast approaching and we still need to find our trail and hike back.

As I get up I brush my hand against the back of my head so as to shake off any excess water. I feel a thick, sticky substance stuck to my hair. I smell it. Tree sap. It smells lovely like pine trees and incense, but proves impossible to get rid off.  The big lump on my hair is solidly stuck to my scalp and no nail is long enough, no scratching hard enough to get rid of it. I resign, “I’ll deal with it at home, with a hot shower”.

The hike back is relatively easy. Though we think are lost, it only takes us five minutes of walking in a straight line to find a trail and a road. Disappointed, not ready to get back to the car, we make it a point to get lost again. We go deeper downhill into the forest on the other side of the road.

Our attempt to get lost is quickly ended when we find a new trail after a clearing. We follow it shortly only to discover a little creek running from right to left in front of us. M. sees a big tree trunk that crosses the creek at a forty-five degree angle; the end on this side is propped up high, higher than M. can reach, and the other end rests on the ground across the creek. She gives that tree trunk a try, even though it is wet, slippery and dangerous. I opt for crossing the water through a shallower part of the creek. After all, the water seems refreshing. I take off my heavy hiking boots and socks and put the socks inside the shoes. Already I feel smarter than M.

Halfway into the creek, I look up and see M. struggling to get up there but thoroughly enjoying the process. Then I come to a slippery part and decide to free my hands throwing both shoes to the other side. Poor attempt. My shoes are caught in the current and are tagging along for an adventure of their own.

I scream. M. is located further down the river and I hope she has seen what just happened and helps me recover the shoes. Far cry. She is still holding hard onto the tree trunk. She tells me to go after them but in my head the shoes have too big an advantage over me. I am stuck in the middle of the creek.  She insists, so I go for it.

I rush back to where I started. I run along the edge of the creek down river, eyes scanning the water efficiently like a machine or rather, like a hungry predator. Need not look further; a few meters from me is one of the shoes stuck in a branch of drift wood in the water. I jump in, retrieve and look around for the other one. Nothing. Boot’s brown as the water, and I see nothing. I cross the creek barefoot and start making my way down river. I run and slump; the soil is wet, the current fast.

What seems like 20 minutes pass and I am still looking. By now, M. has finally made it across and is looking at me in amusement. I laugh, trying not to be bothered or sad. But I am slightly sad and upset. Still laughing, I ask M. if she thinks I should keep this faithful shoe as a keepsake, a Big Basin souvenir of sorts and a reminder of my outdoor incompetence. Either that or I should throw it away since it’s no use carrying it.

M. is sorry and offers me her shoes. I say no thanks but I’ll gladly take her socks. And I still can’t believe what I just did back there, giving my shoes to the current in the middle of a hike! Despite what I said earlier, I decide to keep the shoe, but only to use it as a pot for a plant. Like in the movie.

As we walk back on our tracks I silently and gently curse myself with every stick and stone I step on. As we are passing the spot where the disaster took place I take one last look around. Swiftly, I put down the boot, take my sweater and jacket off and jump into the creek. I cannot believe my luck; stuck in driftwood is my other shoe. I scream and rejoice. Never have I been happier about a pair of shoes. M. is joyful too. 

We make our way back to the car. It’s getting dark after all. Through-out the hour-and-a-half hike back we get lost again, we find our way, we talk about death, family, and about the magic of the forest and the spiritual and creative enlightening induced from whatever fumes the trees emanate. We are silent too. Then we talk a little more, issues deep and otherwise. No matter. All I am really thinking about is how grateful I am to have my shoes.