How to Live Forever by Douglas S Johnson Life and death are committed and whole, and, despite appearances, we are always on sacred ground. — Rachel Naomi Remen The trouble began with a strange dizziness, a curious lightheaded feeling accompanied by a persistent anxiety. Eight months pregnant and used to strange sensations in her body, Karen made an appointment with her obstetrician for the following afternoon, even though she didn't really think anything was wrong. However, by the time she got to the doctor's office the next day, she was hardly able to stand, and the cramping in her abdomen had become almost unbearable. It was one of those situations about which no one can say exactly what went wrong; when it was all over, the medical reasons didn't matter anymore anyway. This was every expectant mother's worst fear realized. Just around nightfall, Karen's baby, alive inside her only a few hours before, was delivered dead. When she was handed her child, a diminutive body breathless and cold, she sat on the edge of her hospital bed, cradling the empty shell that had contained part of her own life and desire for the future. At first, it all seemed such a tremendous waste, a mockery, a reason for anger and for doubting the existence of a divine plan. It wasn't fair. How could one be allowed to go through so much expectancy and preparation, only to be so greatly disappointed in the end? How could any providential power cause an innocent soul to perish, without its first being able to live, and grow, and love the world? What good could there possibly be in such things as this? None of it made any sense, and, worse than that, it seemed the result of some larger, malignant force. Yet, after a while, as she sat there on the edge of the hospital bed, somewhere in the midst of all her grief and resentment of God, Karen knew an undeniable and growing pulse of love for this extinguished being that had for several months lived and often throbbed with wild transport in her belly. For long minutes, she looked at this little girl's body, felt of its tiny hands and feet and tried to find a trace of life still remaining in its dark eyes. All the while, the pulsations of affection grew and grew, even with the realization that there would be no furtherance of vitality, no unexplained regeneration, no miracles. At last, still shaking with tearful sobs, she returned the lifeless form to the nurse, and it was taken away. *** For many months after, she would dream that the child had survived, that she was sitting in the hospital bed holding a living baby. Each time, she awoke with that strange pulsation deep in her breast, and an unexplainable peace would possess her entire being, sometimes for the remainder of the night. At times, the dreams seemed to Karen a blasphemy of sorts. Her little girl had died; how could she dare to feel so tranquil and happy? Then one night, after the dream came again, Karen realized why she felt so wonderful: in fact, the child was not dead, but rather, still living inside her. Best of all, she could still share that life with those around her in every good intention and in every loving act; she had the power to keep the child truly alive for as long as she herself continued to live. There was great joy for her in this realization. After this, Karen set about making her life an active monument to a child who now does not feel so lost to her as it did before. These days, she works at a daycare center near her home, and she cherishes the hours spent with her tiny charges and tries to make the time she spends with them very special. She also has three more children now, and, because of only a few moments spent with the first one, she is able to more keenly love and appreciate them one day, one moment at a time. *** There is a Sufi story of a man whose shadow blessed everything it passed over. If his shadow fell upon a tree, it gave forth fruit; if it darkened the brow of a sick child, the child was instantly well; if it was cast over a span of desert, there was at once an oasis in that place. The man never knew of the blessings he shared with the world, and the world never knew from whence they came. There was only a man who loved everything, and his shadow blessed all that it fell upon. The Sufis did not give the man a name. That, I believe, would have defeated the point of the story. His love, the blessings that he shared, and his consequent immortality had nothing to do with who he was, what he looked like, or whether or not he was popular, attractive or famous. In fact, if he had possessed these things and doted upon them, they would have no doubt undermined his great talent. All of his greatest works were done without his knowing about them, and in the merest of instants. If we but turn on the television at home or glance at the magazine rack while we are shopping, we will quickly find that most people in our culture believe that a life without popularity, physical attractiveness, pleasure, fame, or influence can have no purpose. This is a gigantic and harmful myth, in that it keeps us from a great truth. The truth is that there is meaning wherever there is love. Even if the beloved is present for only a week, a day, or a moment, and there is love, there is benefit for the whole world, because that love can be passed along indefinitely. So it is with Karen's baby girl. She was not given to the earth for a long time, but, as it turns out, she was here just long enough. There was a reason for her brief existence, because a moment of love is meaning enough. Karen loved her child and drew love from the child and, in turn, even now shares this love with others and will do so for the rest of her life; likewise, many who know Karen and receive this love from her will go on and share it again. Eventually, those few moments of love between mother and child will be gathered together with all other moments of true human affection and, all together, they will form the very foundation for heaven. What possible waste can there be in such ongoing benefit and ultimate good? So it is that an instant of love lasts for all time, and so, in a single act, in a fleeting moment of true, unselfish caring, we can live forever. What greater significance might we seek? Of course, Karen lamented the loss of the person she never got to see grow up and have a full life of her own. Like Karen, we all grieve at one time or another in our lives for someone who has left us too soon. However, we must remember that if there is real, deep affection for and from such a one, even for the shortest span of time, there is no waste or mockery or meaninglessness in the loss, only the ancient lesson of the ocean living in a single drop of water. *** I think often about the ways in which I might leave a bit of love in the world: through my close personal relationships, through my writing, through my teaching. I recently heard someone say that a teacher is like a candle, in that true teachers consume themselves in order to share with the world a light that will shine always. That I might attain this in my work for but a few brief moments during my lifetime!