MOMENTS ABOUT PASSING: When One is 79, pushing 80

I find myself mindlessly marking the number of my many friends and fellow sojourners                                 who have gone ahead.

To the land of mist and uncertainty, a land from where no traveler has returned                                               to tell and reveal.

I fancy myself independent of mind, but deeply curious and quite simply a busybody,                                   with no place to go to occupy one's idle moments.

I eagerly scour the known universe of thought and notions with my feeble steps,                                          eagerly searching about the world of uncertainly we all are bound to end with.

Yet one hardly finds things easy to understand to build on, to unravel the truths                                           about the land who all certainly are going to land into.

Yes, a land who all know we are inexorably heading to, but clearly having no exact facts                             what, where and why we all are destined to it.

A most mystifying thought to consider, given the surety of its eventual happening                                       and we can only exclaim, we know it comes but not when it comes.  

We can anchor our truths only on the faith we inherited or adhere, and rely on the countless                   words piously spoken or written about it.

That, what and how it is will depend largely on how we live and conduct our temporal lives                     on this at times God-forsaken place of trials and tribulation.

That it will be easy and pleasant if we are frugal with the alluring enjoyments and human                      pleasures that vie for our attention here on this earth.

That a life blessed with many prayerful moments of introspection and earnest supplications                    will be a requisite for entry and acceptance. 

But that a life of ease and comfort even in the twilight of one's ebbing existence, a life that tries to          anticipate or co-opt the ultimately fated reality is a sure way not only to lose sight                            of the goal,  but to miss it altogether.

This belief does give one a sense not only of purpose and mission, but one of quiet contentment             and resignation.

That one's sacrificing efforts are truly treasures that merit their rewards elsewhere, where there          is no end and no counting of days and nights.

No more counting of friends and sojourners who have gone ahead.                                                            For soon, here and there, before, now and later will have no meaning, and no sense.

And better still, the vicissitudes of day and night, joy and sorrow, pain and comfort,                               are no longer inevitable choices.