the simple things

My son likes to create his own animal totems. I guess this could potentially be considered cultural appropriation .. but he is 6 years old and to him its just a kind of game that he’s created. Each animal has some kind of message to relay to him. For instance, he has this turtle necklace and he tells me “turtle says never give up”. The other day he picked up a horse pendant, and matter-of-factly explains “horse says - simple things”.

Simple things?

I thought about how complicated life can feel sometimes. I get overwhelmed. I’m sure you do. I start to contemplate “simple things” and I can see how this concept of appreciating what truly matters seems to have slipped lately. I’ve been in a sea of should do’s, could do’s, can’t do’s and not enough’s. A perpetual state of doing - and doing too much. His reminder of ‘simple things’ couldn’t have come at a better time.

I have a little visual exercise that I do when I feel like life is getting on top of me. I imagine myself laying on my death-bed. I’m in the final minutes of the final hours of my final day, and here is the place where I quietly reflect on the moments in my life that truly counted. What arrives is a series of mental photographs that mostly make my eyes sting and my heart swell. Birthing my babies. Moments of hilarity with friends or connection with my lover. The rhythmic pulse of India. The buzz of the west-oz bush in summer. Strangers who became my best friends. Welling up in awe as I flew over the Himalayas….

And just as light needs shadow, alongside these epic moments are also the not-so-beautiful moments to reflect on. Like the cheek-to-carpet moment when I could not bare the responsibility of being a single mum for one second more. Or my hurt heart as I crammed my few belongings into my corolla and left WA forever. Getting bullied. Abuse. Knocks to my ego that squeezed me through the eye of a tiny shitty needle only to soften me into a beautiful vulnerability.

As I take my metaphorical last breaths on my death-bed, these myriad snapshots string together to bring me a warmth and connectedness unlike anything else. Even the shitty moments were an integral part of the tapestry of my growth.

The simple things that give me joy or allow me growth are bountiful on my death-bed. As I lay here, I suddenly cannot recall the insignificant worries that woke me at 2am, or the jobs I missed out on or the 1000 things on my to-do list that I never got around to doing.

The same day that my son gives me the simple things tip-off, I listen to a recorded meditation made by a very special, wise friend & mentor who recently passed away. As her velvety voice metaphorically escorted me through my body, she concluded by encouraging me to let go & finished with a simple but powerful message:

“Place a hand on your heart and give gratitude… because every moment since birth, your heart has never skipped a beat and has stayed with you, no matter how you’ve treated it”

After the meditation I’m relaxed but also a fucking mess. Perhaps because I had forgotten my beautiful unconditional-loving heart or maybe it was just intense to hear her voice. I thought about the days I spent with her in the lead up to her death. Although her body was failing her, her spirit soared. It was mesmerising and enchanting to witness. Consciously leaning into her death allowed her to truly sit with herself in her final days and remember all the moments that had counted in her life. This was everything to her and her gratitude was palpable.

So today I cherish this wisdom imparted of the simple things. My friend in her final days understood it and my son at six seems to know of its significance, however it seems to be me that needs reminding.

So… for me, more time on my death-bed to give gratitude for and reflect on the sweetness and impermanence of life and to also allow for rebirth in whatever form it should arrive in.

And more time revelling in the simple things.