The summer heat in Arizona was at its peak as extended family gathered together to celebrate Grandma Perry’s hundredth birthday. True to form, she fully enjoyed being the center of attention in her bright red dress with an over-sized, white lace collar. She had been quite sickly early in her life and had almost died in her thirties, but she had gone on to live a full and healthy, not to mention long, life. It seemed to all of us gathered there that Grandma would be around forever.
A month after that party, her life was complete. She decided she was done, and within hours she was gone. My daughter Shanta and I flew back to Phoenix for the funeral. Shanta had already experienced death while still in elementary school–of her best friend’s mother and a favorite teacher. But this was different. Although we were sad she was gone, there was a sense of celebration and gratitude that she had been in our lives for so long. Her life and death seemed in line with the order of things.
That’s not always the case, of course. When I worked at hospice, I facilitated a group for parents who had lost an infant. It certainly appeared those babies had died before their time. The parents mourned not only the loss of the baby, but their hoped-for future—all the dreams and expectations they had for their child. The heartbreak they endured was nearly unbearable as they traversed the bleak territory of grief and learned to live with their broken hearts.
Someone once said that we are stronger in the places that have been broken. I believe that is true, but only after we have journeyed through our grief and discovered its lessons. It can take a lot of living to begin to see that through all the ups and downs of our lives, there runs a consistent thread of perfection. But to see this requires an intention to grow and evolve and to live as consciously as possible. I recently met a couple who shared with me that years ago, their two-year-old had died in an accident. Of course, they were devastated beyond belief. Their lives had been turned upside down, and they had spent years finding a way to live their lives incorporating this loss. But they told me that they have come to a place of gratitude now for the tremendous growth they experienced because of the death of their child. The father said it had opened his heart and connected him to life in a way he hadn’t known was possible. He was visibly moved as he spoke about the gifts he received as a result of his loss.
Can we learn to see death from another perspective—that every life, no matter how long or short is the perfect length? The spiritual masters tell us that everything is unfolding in absolute perfection. But it is hard to see the perfection in the things that look like tragedies. I’m not talking about spiritual by-pass, where we disconnect from the pain of loss and jump to an intellectual understanding of the perfection the masters speak of. Can we really honestly see an underlying perfection in everything?
You may have heard the story of the Zen master and the farmer. The farmer’s son received the gift of a horse. When good things happened for his son because of the horse, the farmer came to the Zen master expressing his elation. When the inevitable difficulties arose for the son as a result of the horse, the farmer came crying to the master. All the while the Zen master remained unmoved, saying each time the farmer approached with a new story, “Is that so?” Life, by its very nature, is a series of ups and downs. Only when we accept this reality can we see the underlying perfection. Like the Zen master, can we learn to take all the ups and downs that comprise our lives in stride and live a more peaceful life?
Trusting that everything is unfolding perfectly can serve as a light on our path. This trust can carry us through even the most challenging times when nothing seems right. If we can hold even a little space for the knowledge of perfection, that light will grow over time. It is important though, to allow our feelings and not rationalize them away, pretending we are at a different level of development than we actually are. We must start from where we are. If nothing appears perfect—in fact, just the opposite—that is our truth. Authenticity is key to evolution. Seeing the perfection in everything that happens is a natural reflection of our level of consciousness. Growth in consciousness is the purpose of the spiritual path.
It was easy to see my 100 year old grandmother’s death as a part of the natural order of things, but infants do die too, and as tragic as that appears, even in our grief, is there a way we can begin to see their deaths as part of the vast underlying order governing our reality?
Consider This: Do you trust the ultimate perfection of life even when it is not apparent?
