five invitations

 

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The five invitations are my attempt to honor the lessons I have learned sitting bedside with so many dying patients. They are five mutually supportive principles, permeated with love.


Don't wait.

Welcome everything, push away nothing.

Bring your whole self to the experience.

Find a place of rest in the middle of things.

Cultivate don't know mind.


—Frank Ostaseski
The Five Invitations

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Death asked me to join him for dinner
so I slipped into my favorite black dress 
that I had been saving for a special occasion 
and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst.
He ordered a ribeye, extra rare
I ordered two desserts and red wine
and then I sipped 
and wondered 
why he looked so familiar 
and smelled like earth and memory.
He felt like a place both faraway 
and deep within my body
A place that whispers to me 
on the crisp autumn breeze 
along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn
somewhere between dancing
and stillness.
He looked at me 
with the endless night sky in his eyes 
and asked 
‘Did you live your life, my love?’
As I swirled my wine in its glass
I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric
If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing 
If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful 
If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist 
and take the time to watch the honeybees 
drink their sweet nectar
I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing 
had taught me 
and if I realized just how 
beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are 
for the brief moment that we are here 
before we all melt back down
into ancestors of the land.
Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers
As he leaned in close and said 
‘My darling, it’s time.’
So I slipped my hand into his
as he slowly walked me home.
I took a deep breath as he leaned in close 
for the long kiss goodnight
and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips 
as his mouth met mine
because I never could resist a man
with the lust for my soul in his eyes
and a kiss that makes my heart stop.


—Gina Puorro
Oh, Death
thank you ian sanders

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