Perhaps one of the more vexing things in all of life occurs, oddly enough, when we do daily meditations on dying. Because in the process of meditations on death, we inevitably encounter coming to terms with anonymity.
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It struck me like lightning. Instantly dropping into a memory. It was like plopping an ice cube into water and you hear the sudden cracking of the ice as it meets the warm water. The scenes came shooting in rapidly like that, kind of flickering like an old black and white movie - but in color.
I was immediately aware of a farm hand walking down a dirt lane. He was an older man, thin and gaunt-featured with worn, leathery hands.
He had stopped in his tracks. I realized he was me, and in an instant I went from ‘looking down’ at him, to being inside his body and looking at my own hands.
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