I love hosting dinner parties. My partner and I had several friends over for a Christmas Day meal. I was in heaven, planning, shopping, cooking, preparing, and completing all the tasks needed to feed eight people. I am nourished not only by the food, but equally by the intimate connection that these gatherings engender.

Before we all begin eating, offering a blessing is a common practice. It tends to be simple. It is a moment to acknowledge the earth for the gift of food, the hands that helped create it, and the sustenance it brings us. We also acknowledge the communion we receive from each other, sharing the connection of friendship.

At the end of the blessing, it is also common to take a moment and go around the table and share something we are grateful for. It doesn’t have to be profound or life changing. It can be a simple recognition of a momentary encounter with a stranger, a child finally cleaning their room, or just a new binge-able TV show.

This time, I felt compelled to not offer an opportunity to share any mention of gratitude. I was distressed even by the thought of doing so.

We had invited a couple we met last year and had been spending more time with. They are part of the large biking community we belong to in Tucson. We share many aspects of our lives, and it was easy to develop a friendship with them. Six months ago, the man was diagnosed with ALS.

Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is an unforgiving fatal disease. Death often occurs within 3 to 5 years of diagnosis. It is relentless in its aim to weaken and eventually shut down any function in the body requiring the movement of a muscle. That is almost everything. It is a mean and unkind disease. It diminishes a person’s ability to attend to the very basic needs of being alive, slowly diminishing the capacity to speak, eliminate, eat, or even breathe. This man’s symptoms are progressing quickly. You can almost see a minute-to-minute decline in his ability to move.

Sitting around a table overflowing with delicious food, how could I reconcile my gratitude for my life in the presence of this man faced with the immanence of his mortality?

I could not bring myself to ask this gathering of friends what they are grateful for. I did not want to impose my sometimes self-righteous need to show off everything I appreciate in my life. There are no platitudes that serve him, no words of encouragement that will lift him up, and no reassurance that everything will be okay. The suggestion of praying, meditating, or surrendering to the present moment all seem trite and inconsequential.

I don’t know how I would react being told that I have a degenerative illness and that my death is months away. How would I respond as I watch my body stop working, no longer able to obey my commands? Unable to move independently and reliant on someone else for my most basic needs.

I ask myself how I would cope with the reality of great loss, not the loss of a child, spouse, sibling, or financial resources but the very real and imminent loss of my life. How would I face the prospect of having minimal options on how to even engage the next moment of my existence? This is not some vague notion of something that will happen in the future. This is as real as it gets.

I am a deeply spiritual man. For the most part, my life’s journey has been defined by choices and experiences that have deepened my connection to the divine. My experience tells me that God dwells in us as us. My life has continually brought me to moments of a deepening understanding that all life arises out of the unknowable, infinite movement of consciousness.

I live in a human body. The human condition is not always easy. It is often messy and confusing. My life has not always been easy. I am often challenged to reconcile my experience of the divine with my very human existence.

The tension between my struggle of being human and my experience of the divine current inspires me to continually surrender to the unfolding gift of my life. In this surrender, I witness its beauty, grace, and love. This shift happens when the illusion of my separation from life dissolves. Only then can I rest in the essential truth of who I am and view my life’s experiences with greater gentleness and compassion.

I am ultimately not afraid of death. If faced with the unbearable knowledge of my pending fate, I hope I can surrender to the present moment and find release by falling into the wellspring of the divine mystery. My friend has his own journey, something we ultimately face alone. The best I can do is to be his friend, support him in the way he asks, be present to his feelings, and help him not feel alone. In the midst of his crisis, I hold space for the possibility, that even for a moment, this man will have an awakening experience of his divine nature and be able to surrender to the ineffable mystery that lives all things.

Amidst the chaos and uncertainty of life, I remain open to Grace and the gift of my life.

If you have any questions, please email me at garymerel@gmail.com or call 732-208-2836. Also, please visit my website at leanintoyourlife.net