Dying is a monumental affair. It is more than kicking your legs and becoming stiff. You will dance to your death here, on this hilltop, at the end of the day. And in your last dance you will tell of your struggle, of the battles you have won and of those you have lost; you will tell of your joys and bewilderments upon encountering personal power. Your dance will tell about the secrets and about the marvels you have stored. And your death will sit here and watch you. The dying sun will glow on you without burning, as it has done today. The wind will be soft and mellow and your hilltop will tremble. As you reach the end of your dance you will look at the sun, for you will never see it again in waking or in dreaming, and then your death will point to the south. To the vastness. ~ don Juan, Journey to Ixtlan

A warrior on the Toltec path (though she would no longer refer to herself as such) recently asked me, “Looking back… do you think you’ve told a good story overall? A great campfire tale, with heroes and villains, challenges and fears faced and overcome? Treasures won and loves lost?”

Yes, I’ve told a fantastic(al) story. One that can hook attention and keep people’s interest for a great while. It’s become an old story, however, and one that I’m not too keen on telling or playing out anymore. It’s played out. It’s become boring and dull and repetitious to me. Can I sustain this story for the rest of my life? Yeah, sure I can. But, it would not be impeccable, it would be a flagrant waste of energy. My own story has become a mere repetition of a repetition. Sustenance. Extravagant and indulgent. Time to move on.

More than a sustainer I have always considered myself a creator so the beauty lies in wondering what to create next! And yet, just as I’ve always been adverse to sustaining, even my own every-changing story, perhaps there is nothing to create. Perhaps it is about just being, to truly look at the world through eyes of wonder, not-doing, as I am often reminded by many of the warriors with whom I converse. Connect with intent, allow things to emerge as they will and ride the wave or dance along the lines of awareness as they reveal themselves. Total freedom.

As you reach the end of your dance you will look at the sun, for you will never see it again in waking or in dreaming, and then your death will point to the south. To the vastness.

While I was writing this I went outside for some air. I glanced over on the ground and there was something that looked like a feather. I walked over, picked it up and found it to be a huge great-horned owl feather. The owl, in much lore, represents the gift of night vision, seeing without the sun. Coincidence?