08/20/05

Some thoughts that occurred to me as I was winging my way home from Billings after having shared her birthday with my sister:

On Friday, May 13, 2005 (yes, Friday the 13th) I was diagnosed with Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia (CML). Under the care of an oncologist whom, in that brief period of time, I have come to greatly respect, I have been prescribed a “miracle” drug, Gleevec, which has already put the disease into remission. But the experience has caused me to reflect even more seriously upon my own mortality than I already had, and has justified in a very real way my profound interest—perhaps even a magnificent obsession—with the meaning and purpose of this thing called life.

As has been the case with others who have in one way or another been confronted with their finitude, the most immediate effect for me has been an even greater appreciation for the precious nature of the present. This has been in the context of the realization of how insidiously easy it is to take the present moment for granted by dwelling upon a past that has already happened or upon a future that has yet to manifest itself in the now. It has increased my consciousness of how utterly mistaken it is to think of myself as immortal with unlimited time to realize my dreams and aspirations.

To some this may be perceived as a mid-life crisis. But more to the point this experience has informed me that even the notion of mid-life is ridiculously presumptuous. It’s like trying to determine where the center of the universe is. The process itself eventually reveals that such a thing is impossible, just as it is impossible to point to the present moment as the middle of my life. The wisdom of the ages has always stated that the only certainty is the present now, and that it must be accepted and acted upon as such without fruitlessly attempting to pinpoint its location on an imaginary timeline.

To be sure, I am nearer to that ultimate transformation labeled “death” than I was yesterday, but that is all that can be said. I know that I am going to die, but I do not know when. The certainty of my death has been made no greater by the diagnosis, but my awareness and acceptance of the fact has been. Where I once may have deluded myself with the thought that my death was an abstract uncertainty to be put off indefinitely through “good clean living”, the stark truth has now imposed itself upon my consciousness that no kind of living can avoid my ultimate mortal destiny.