yet another non-theological post…
but for this: pondering your death is a classic spiritual discipline.
So, imagine the scene:
me, my car, and a very very steep driveway.
Ahead, a man and his dog.
To the side, a sort of cliff edge.
Below, perfectly smooth black ice, slick with tension.
We skid slowly and gracefully off the edge of the road, as I tried simultaneously to steer back from the spin and to aim for the rhododendron (the other option being a car-length drop and flip into the neighbour’s garden).
All day since, Emily Dickenson on my mind.
(man, dog, car, rhododendron and I are all fine, by the way. But nine hours later, it still feels all too close.)