The Banquet

I remember as a wee lass singing at the top of my lungs "I cannot come to the banquet..." And I always connected that to the idea of death. I don't want to go yet, Lord knows. I've got more to do. I've always got more to do. I've got big dreams.

But then I realized recently, with death weighing on my mind. I'm not really afraid of dying. I am afraid of not living. I am afraid of not making my mark, not leaving a legacy. I am afraid that all of my fears paralyze me from living my dreams.

But now. I can come to the banquet, and I am going to savor that banquet. I'm always talking about living for the day, to those around me who are afraid of the future or afraid of regret. Yet. I never let myself go. I take so few risks.

Lately I feel I have been opening up. I see that thread in my blog, but also in everything I've been up to lately. There's a new intensity to everything I do and feel. It is the upshot of being afraid of death. It is release.

At the same time I am remembering my roots. I am celebrating the ways that people before me left their mark. Everything from Lorca's poems, to my great-grandmother's dishes, to my great aunt's tablecloth, to some mugs with a mysterious past. I may not really know the people behind these objects, but in some small way they have made it into my life.

The way to prepare for the banquet, is to enjoy setting the table.