Once again, it was 10/16 — a day that reminds me both my raw fight for life and the loss of sight, jet also the quiet gift of continuing this beautiful embodied existence. But this year, the remembrance feels different. It brings me a deep sense of closure, perhaps even the completion of a certain phase of the spiritual search. No spiritual teachings calls me anymore — not out of pride, arrogance, cynicism, or loss of faith, but because it has simply lost its meaning. For a long time, spiritual teachings were my way to patch the deep wound of seeking peace, justice, or rather absolute truth and the meaning of life — a way to reach for something sacred, mystical, far beyond the glitter and misery of ordinary life.
Perhaps only now do I understand the radical teaching of the greatest teacher of all — Lady Death — from whom none of us can ultimately escape. The meaning of life is life itself. Nothing more than this moment of unique embodied existence is truly ours. The deeper I sink into the experience of this moment, the less I think about how to be fully here and now. The more I live, the less I need to know what is right or wrong, or how to live.
Simple humanity and the exploration of the rich diversity of the ordinary earthly world are my true meditation. To fully merge with the earth, to let the beauty of life’s simplicity penetrate to the marrow of my bones, and to stop overthinking how to do things or how hard they are — just to take a breath and do it. Now! Because tomorrow may never come.
And remember… don’t wait for permission to take flight. The wings are yours, and the sky belongs to no one.