“Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think,
Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink…”

Who still remembers that Doris Day lyric? Some of those old homilies, like ‘an apple a day…’ and ‘laughter is the best medicine’ still make sense. As do newer ones, like ‘there are no pockets in shrouds’, and ’some days you’re the windshield, some days you’re the bug…’

We might describe HEALTH as the condition our condition is in. The human body is complex and resilient. Natural selection continues to cull our herd, yet modern science has made survivable, conditions that once meant early death. Bob Dylan wrote, “He not busy being born is busy dying.” We are all dying. Most of us are a little cranky about that and will go to extremes, trying to alter or delay that eventuality.

Face it, all you own is right now. If stage is the actors medium, the present is the human medium. Your reason tells you that there will be a next moment. We call that The Future. But the future is not promised, it is not guaranteed. There are daily reminders just how suddenly shit can happen. So, don’t stress about the future. It will come or it won’t.

You have a memory about what just happened. We call that The Past. You may be right (let’s go to the tape;) but it’s a memory…and memories are malleable, ephemeral. Those pictures in your mind about what just happened are just pictures. You have heard of photo shop, yes? Sometimes we edit our memories to affirm our expectations.

So we have no certainty about the past or the future. You have an opinion about it and opinions are like assholes - everybody has one. Can we agree that we are, all of us, right here, right now? Baba Ram Dass advised, BE HERE NOW. In other words, exist in the moment. As actors, we strive to “be in the moment”. Live as you were taught to act.

Death is the ultimate human fear; not pain, not hunger, not loneliness. And fear can paralyze you…or it can spur you to be proactive. Much of my life has been a spiritual quest. I’ve meditated daily for the past 14 years…and my knees hit the floor every nite in prayer. I was shaka bukkued to Buddhism in 1981. I was raised and confirmed as a Lutheran, espoused atheism in college and acknowledged a Higher Power after dying and being brought back, in Vietnam. I’ve been out of my body twice, now; I’ve been to Chichen Itza for the Equinox and Machu Picchu for the Summer Solstice. I’ve seen something maneuver in the sky above Area 51 that made me giggle like an awestruck child. I’ve studied Wicca with a gifted adept who does stuff you’d consider magical…and you’d be right;) I took the EST training in the early 70’s. I’ve also had a lot of therapy, some neural feedback and am grateful for the anti-depressant Lexapro;)

Rajneesh was once asked, “Is there life after death?” His response, “A better question to ask…is there life after birth?” He meant that once you are fully conscious, fully alive, you know that You can never really die. Give your intellect a rest, nurture your intuition. .

Yeah, your physical packaging is gonna wear out…but that’s not You. Flesh is good, it looks nice and feels even better…But most of us are noticing that our flesh is becoming less supple, less resilient. That’s understandable, just human vanity…but it’s also a consequence of identifying with your physical essence rather than your spiritual essence. You all went to high school and beyond and one day, you graduated. One day you will graduate from this school.

The problem is, a lot of people struggle with that question, “what’s next”…and how they might get into a good graduate school;) In my life, I have asked the Universe a shit-load of questions…and have received some answers. They may resonate with you or not. My mantra may not be your mantra.

I still remember a popular hit song that I heard on Greek radio as a kid, living there in the mid-50’s.
“Yasou Yanni, ti com badia, (Hi Johnny, how are you doing?) Yatee easa lepimenos? (Why do you look so sad?) Griegora, Yanni, tha yenese yeros.” (Act quickly, Johnny, you will be old, someday.) Such sentiments been always been in our consciousness, reminders that life is fleeting; therefore, Carpe Diem.

I’ve smoked a pack of Pall Malls daily since 1961. I like them. I drink more rum, ale and single malt scotch then anyone really should. I love rib-eye steaks and spare ribs and bacon. I have a “prescription” for medicinal pot. I also exercise regularly and my metabolism responds to things like soy milk and omega oils and red yeast rice.

But I’ll tell you something. 40 years ago, while they re-assembled me at Walter Reed Hospital, I asked my doctors how much time I might have left. Their prognosis: maybe five years. There was almost no data on injuries like mine because injuries like mine generally cause death. All agreed there was virtually zero medical explanation for my resurrection. Typically, a severed carotid causes shock, then unconsciousness within 10 minutes. Around 15, you’ve bled out. I lived for more than an hour, without any help.

Perhaps because of my training and my commitment to always bring my people home, perhaps the miraculous intercession by some Higher Power, perhaps the kind of physical transformation that allows a hundred pound woman to lift a car off her child. “Count your blessings”, said my doctors and recommended that I immediately stop smoking, stop drinking and stop engaging in risky life choices. “You mean, like combat?” Since I no longer had control over the quantity of my life (and never really did), I committed to the quality of my life…

Now someone like me, given a second chance, that son of a gun should be set for life, right? Well, I did very well for about ten years. But there’s a reason it’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I spent the next eight years in self-destructive depression, questioning my right to enjoy a life when people I valued, didn’t come home. I was again blessed with veteran friends that cared about me, far more than I did. They persuaded me to ask for help. That was difficult for me. I’m happy to offer help; I don’t accept it easily. They were there to “pull my coattails.” We all need such people in our lives because any of us can lose our way.

I’m 65 now…in human years. That’s right, you Cougars, “Who’s old enough to be your Daddy?” I’d probably be less at peace if I weren’t clear that I will live as long as I will live…do the best that I can, long as I can…and then cherish the serenity, the peace that I know awaits us all.

When your run finally ends, they will award the booby prize to all who frittered and dithered their Time away. You’ve already received the Keys to the Highway, you were born with them. You just need to remember. (Hey, perhaps I’m still here, just to pull your coattails).

Life is short. Use it…before you lose it.

And as the Lakota say, Ho-ka-he. “It is a good day to die.”

25 October 2009