November 11, 2012: A Beautiful Life

[There is a] kind of all-embracing universality evident in Mother Teresa's prayer: "May God break my heart so completely that the whole world falls in." Not just fellow nuns, Catholics, Calcuttans, Indians. The whole world. It gives me pause to realize that, were such a prayer said by me and answered by God, I would afterward possess a heart so open that even hate-driven zealots would fall inside... [My] sense of the worlds as a gift, my sense of a grace operative in this world despite its terrors, propels me to allow the world to open my heart still wider, even if the openness comes by breaking--for I have seen the whole world fall into a few hearts, and nothing has ever struck me as more beautiful. --David James Duncan

There once was a little girl who grew up with birds. She had a beautiful soul, this girl, and everyone loved her--everyone. She was a songbird--always singing--and when her face lit up with laughter the sun competed with her solar smile. Everything was beautiful to this little girl because her time was short and she knew it. 

One day the little girl decided that she would move the world with a song. She breathed deep and filled her lungs, and when she sang out her voice was loud and clear and beautiful. Everyone who heard her song stopped to listen and they were touched--they were touched deeply and unforgettably. The girl's song was short and her voice began to waver and to grow faint--soon it was silent. After she moved the world, the little girl, who grew up with birds, flew far, far away and everyone who knew her were forever changed because of her song. 

Sam and her dog Dylan

Samantha Jane Laux lived her short life to the fullest, inspiring everyone who intersected her path--inspiring me. Sam was kind, and patient, yet tenacious, and full of fire. Her drive to make the most of what she had led her to travel, to become a published author, and to transpose beauty and grace into an ugly, life-stealing disease. NF2 took Sam's life, but she did not let the disease define it. She had just turned twenty-three when she flew away, but she lived more in those short years than most people do in a life time. Sam was beautiful.

I find myself thinking of her often--its hard not to. When someone impacts your life, so fully and incandescently, their essence stays with you. Whenever I find beauty I think of Sam. Whether it is a setting or rising sun, a singing bird, or a tiny flower--anything that is lovely and exhibits life reminds me of her.

Although I was the older sister-figure, I looked up to Sam. She was wise, beyond her age, and steady. She taught me how to live. She solidified my core belief to never accept the status quo--to grasp onto my life and follow my inner, heart-felt desires. She taught me how to open wide my whole heart--even at the risk of breaking it. Most importantly, she taught me not to let anything--whether it is health, nay-sayers, or fear--stand in my way. 

Living in Antarctica, standing in the shadow of ancient mountains, walking on frozen records of time, and wearing my heart on my sleeve, I feel overwhelmingly free. I am an existentialist--a transcended version of my former self. I stand for nothing and everything,

I want it all. As much as I can carry in this life, and when my arms are full, I will drag whatever I can. Call it selfish or self-centered--call it what you like--but this is my life, my one opportunity to live spectacularly. A life that I won't gaze back on with regret. No. When my time expires, I will look my fate in the face and reach for its hand--no need to look back or to be afraid. I will say, "I am ready. I have done all that I set foot to do. I saw. I felt. I lived."

Salmon help shield us from fear of death by showing us how to follow our course with out fear, and how to give ourselves for the sake of things greater than ourselves... A piece of my interior will never leave that sand fingertip amid the salmon-shattered flow. And this piece of me, I swear, is not afraid to die. --David James Duncan

For Sammi (1989-2012)