What Men Call Life

I stumbled upon Samantha Mariah Jane’s blog yesterday and coincidentally she had shared a poem that her grandfather had written, shortly before he passed away. With her permission I am posting it here. I think it portraits the spiritual journey of life and death and the light and love of it all.

What Men Call Life

Who knows but life

be that which men call death,

and death, what men call life.

I picture myself about to die.

I don’t want to leave, but my time

is up. My span completed.

I say goodbye, clinging a little

to those people I’ve loved

and enjoyed.

I fill my eyes for a last time

with the incredible colors

and beauty around me, and

I brace myself and begin

the struggle of letting go.

I feel the darkness sweep over me.

I am precipitated through a long, dark, tunnel

into a light that blinds me.

I cry out in protest

and hear a voice exclaim,

“It’s a boy, Mrs. J!

You’ve just given birth

to a healthy boy!”,

and I have entered

what we call Life.

By R.A.J.

1/30/1980