“Soon I am going to die!”
I did not reply.
Just waited to hear what else he would say.
He was old but did not look like a man who was dying.
I finally replied with a question:
“What is life? You who lived so long,
you must have a good idea by now.”
He looked at me for a minute and then said,
with a twinkle in his eye and a raised brow:
“Life is many things, not all of them pleasant,
but feeling alive bestows vision even to the blind.
That’s the only part worth talking about.”
“Tell me about that, then.”
Suddenly all gloom departed from his face,
and he declared with much emotion and grace:
“Life is the sun rising from below the water.
It is the dew on flower petals on an early spring morning.
It is a beautiful woman’s lips ready to give you a kiss.
It is the taste of the first bite from an apple,
after a long day of fasting.
It is the smell of the fields after the rain.
It is a bird bathing in a waterhole on a hot summer day.
It is coming to port after riding out a perfect storm,
with your clothes soaking wet and your mouth salty and dry.
It is waking up in your warm bed to the smell of coffee,
after a long absence from home.”
The old artist suddenly stopped, took a deep breath,
and said with a hint of regret:
“I have been around for eighty years,
but if I condensed all the moments I felt alive
they would add up to days,
maybe hours, no more.
That is how it feels, for sure.”
A few months later the old artist passed away,
leaving me with not a word to say,
but with a deep impression in my mind,
that feeling alive bestows vision even to the blind.