My journey away from theism hasn’t entirely landed in the atheism camp; as I said in my last post, I seem to live in the borderlands between religion and atheism, with connections to both. But what brings me to this vast wilderness out of the comfy Christianity I used to know? Mortality.

Here’s the old mindset: Life is hard; we are embattled and tasked with a mission from God, to do His will, to be single-minded, and to do what it takes to trust Him and to fulfill our calling. We can look forward to our reward in heaven, and indeed that is often what keeps us going. We eschew the temptations of this world in exchange for a loftier vision. We know we are going to die, but really, death is a beginning of a new life, so there is nothing to worry about; in fact, the suffering of this lifetime is infinitesimal compared to the glories and joy of our eternal destiny. Of course, we do as much or more than the non-believer to avoid death, and we certainly rarely talk about it. Instead of grieving deeply the losses of death when they come, we have a hundred comforting thoughts to soothe us through the pain and program our minds out of the horror and trauma of our situation.

Here’s the new mindset: Oh SHIT! I’m going to die, sooner than I can even contemplate, and I have no idea if spirit or consciousness survives after death. I am possibly going to LOSE MYSELF AND THOSE I LOVE. THIS is what I have to work with. I’ve already wasted so much time. Huge grief, anger, anguish, pain. Years sometimes. I’m sure that some people who think deeply about these things never emerge from the pulsing wound of mortality. But in our best moments, other perspectives can assert themselves. For myself, steeped in cosmic wonder, I think, “I have this one-in-a-multi-billion-year-old-cosmos opportunity to live life.” I want to live! Deeply and well and with meaning and connection. I am the unique instance of myself; no one could live the life I’m going to live and I am responsible for what I make of it. Now, is this the life I MOST want to live?

On one particularly depressing existential episode, I was inconsolable about my short life, the lack of meaning, the lost dreams I would never get back and the accomplishments no matter how small or large that I would not see happen in my life. I was paralyzed with regret and anguish. I stood looking out my window at a beautiful view of an oak-covered hillside, with wild grasses and flowers growing, and hawks floating on the air currents. I thought, “How do they do it?” Generation after generation, all they do is the same old survival game. There is no meaning in this. As I continued my contemplation, I saw through the ordinary enactment of instinct and survival. I saw that the dignity of each plant and creature was in its faithfulness to itself, generally and specifically. The oak tree is exactly that and no more; it is SO OAK-LIKE! And specifically, the oak tree in front of me lives its OAKness in its spot with it’s own unique zest… accommodating storms and soil changes, pests, losses, nesting birds, human interference, seasons and aging, until its life is fulfilled. It is not the same as the oak tree next to it; and its beauty is in its adherence to its nature in its own unique way. Of course it cannot really do much more than that; but I took the lesson to myself. I am generally human with all the characteristics of the species–I am human, mortal, female, embodied, with senses and conciousness; Yet, I am specifically myself, with unique genome, personality, intellect, desires, and experiences. I am so HUMAN-LIKE! And I live my HUMANness in my own unique way that I get to determine, by virtue of my responses to life as it unfolds before me.

Having lived with the former mindset for 25 years, and the growing second mindset for the past almost 25, I can say there are consequences to this shift. They include:

No one will save me from this life but me. No one is going to lift me out of my depression or my lassitude or my denial. This is my task, to awaken, to invite, to walk into the life I choose. This is the courage required. Everyone I’ve ever admired was someone who somehow took his or her own life by the horns and rode the beast.

The ordinary is the sacred. If heaven is a little less sure and life right now a certainty, somehow life starts to seem a lot more sacred and heaven a little less shiny. I used to disdain popular culture; I criticized the shallowness of people’s lives, thought the obsession with love songs was missing the point (God was what we were supposed to be focused on), thought TV was a waste of time, and worked to be spiritual by going to church, praying, reading religious books, being very serious about it all. Over the years, my perspective has changed. I said the other day, “the sacred and the ordinary aren’t much different to me any more.” That means, I understand why the radio is full of love songs, instead of “God” songs; I see now that if you could spend your life loving and being loved, truly, deeply, you would have claimed that life for Love and for yourself, spent it doing what you wanted to do. People writing and singing love songs are hinting at one of the deepest instincts we have as humans. That seems pretty sacred to me. Watching TV – comedies, movies, storytelling, relaxing, laughing, investigating, reflecting – is in some ways the primitive circle of fire around which we gather to review and rehash our lives. Lately I have less guilt and more enjoyment in television, but I think I watch less of it. And, all of the spiritual activities I used to do are being replaced by a slow appreciation of what it means to be in the moment, to engage in contemplation, to be enraptured by beauty, to listen deeply to others, and to be mindful of the ways truth is a gentle breeze wafting through every moment of my life waiting to whisper in my ear if I will just listen and take it in.

It is difficult and glorious. And that is the shining, bitter truth. Who has the cajones to look death in the face and stare it down and choose life (instead of waiting until the deathbed experience)? I hope I do. Ok, so we flinch sometimes, we go into hiding. And we emerge, ready to be brave again. So, the lesson I’m learning about this is here is where practice comes in. As many times as we bail, we can awaken again. But, it’s much more likely if we have tools – daily meditation or contemplation, a community of truth-tellers around us, journeys immersed in natural places that call us to be, and whatever unique wake-up alarms each of us can identify.

Choose life, falter, awaken, return, choose life. This is the mystic dance that mortality mentors in us, if we are willing.