When life was too painful and dark, and I could find no hope or reason to live for myself, I gave up on that. That was my first death. From that day, I lived for others, to reduce their suffering, to enlighten their paths, to free them from illusion, to make them laugh so hard they wet themselves. The basic stuff. That was enough for 40 odd years (28 of which I had amnesia of the dark years and the little girl/woman who passed into unbeing but never ceased to be). Life always had meaning, and was always worth living, even though I yearned for it to be done. I was ready, and did, live to the point that there was nothing left, and I had given everything I had for as long as I could, and I was spent. And it was a good ride.
Then the same kind of grace that I had lived in order to bring to others, came to me at last. That was my second death. And I learned that there was a way for me too, and that I could follow that way and not abandon the people or principles I had grown to love along the way. I still live for others, only I live for me too now, and life is amazing. Utterly amazing. Paradoxically, I am become more effective in the lives of others because of the joy and the profound grounded-ness or connected-ness of every moment in my own life, that before was lacking.
I am in no hurry to meet my third death, when this body returns to the earth. But it will be another celebration day, another bright passage, when it comes all on its own.
