A reflection inspired from an experience in the ICU:
If you were to walk in one of these rooms, you would notice a common theme. These rooms are silent, the window curtains are low, and the space always seems a bit cold. You approach the bed slowly and see how his eyes are closed; the chest rises delicately with tapering force, each hand rests with a surrendering grace. Then slowly the skin changes tone.
Watching a man die of old age is like observing a sandcastle masterpiece whither in the wind.
Each grain disappears in the air; the forces that once held it in marvelous unison succumb to fate. Like watching a painting melt, you want to remember only its beauty, not its end.
Such a work of art is best revered in silence, but I often weep inside.
His thin, salt and pepper hair-- like the mane of a Lion, the glory of life, the proof and mark of time. This moment illustrates the thorniest mystery-- that in order to live we must die. Life and Death are one.
In the chaos and struggle to survive- a peaceful breeze arrives, a snow covered floor appears, bright stars dance in the sky. You have passed.
Suffering has passed. You are free.