Radio silence doesn't mean nothing happening - notes on fear and death

Well, its been busy.  I guess i say that a lot.  I guess we all say that a lot.  Is that why i haven't posted for months?  Partly.  And in part because there was some of this happening:
cold snap
garden tending
number crunching
make dinner
clean the carpet
register the car
sit
talk to a friend
listen to NPR
watch the birds
jog on dirt paths
watch the sunset light up the heavens and the swamp over the pearl river on the I-10 bridge streaking orange and pink and magenta and yellow and how is this even possible
meeting new people
tending to each thing

And all the while there's always some thinking, thinking not-thinking, non-thinking (as Dogen says).  There were all these spiders in my house as the autumn arrived.  I started thinking (see?) about what is the fear?  Why is it that i am so deathly afraid of this thing?  And its only really *some* spiders - the daddy-long-legs, spindly ones don't bother me so much.  Even the small but hefty ones - if they're really tiny, i don't mind as much.  So why am i afraid of this one form of spider?

Its very clear in MY mind:  because they're HUGE!  They're FURRY!  They're horribly scary!  So i guess what doesn't compute then, is why isn't everyone scared of these things?  Why would i be afraid of something someone else has no response to?  What is fear, in general?  I mean i know something about what it does in the body (stimulation, activation, fight or flight), but i don't know why.  I've been thinking about it a lot.  I don't have a rational answer for why i'm afraid of (big, hairy) spiders.  But i do know that fear arises differently for each of us.  The only thing i could narrow most (all?) fear down to was that ever-present fear of death.  Maybe fear is basically about fear of death, in some way - not necessarily our own physical death, but the death or loss of anything:  an idea, a moment.

And then this Great Sadness settles into my field of vision, when i think about the real physicality of death.  A good friend of the sangha, Abbot Steve Stuckey, is actively dying in California right now.  He was diagnosed with stage IV (pancreatic?) cancer this autumn.  It was just after i left California that i found out.  I am still shocked - by the diagnosis, by the speed - one minute we're fine and living our life and the next minute we're preparing for our last months alive?  Yes, this is sometimes how it is.

Abbot Steve was one the first to farm at this special place

Even though we all know we're going to die, we live as though we're going to live into old age.  Shocking, and sad and unclear how i feel or how to express my sorrow when it arises.  These are the responses that have come up for me.  I feel sad that Steve will die soon.  I feel sad that Zen Center will lose its leader, teacher and friend.  I feel sad that friends of mine will lose their teacher.  And, i feel fear and sadness because Steve's diagnosis points to my own mortality.  I think of all the people i've known or been close to who have died (especially the ones who weren't over 80 years old).  John-Alex.  Dave.  Adam.  Michael.  Moira.  Frank.  This happens!  This is happening!  How do we function, in the midst of death and loss and grief?  Its overwhelming to think about sometimes.  And so we say the names of those who have died.  We remember them and memorialize them.  We celebrate our own life, and the time we did have with those who have died.  We give thanks and find gratitude for each moment, even if there is pain or suffering.  There is gratitude in being alive, and we can find this kernel when we look.  That seems to be the Most Important Thing.  So we grieve together, and celebrate together.  And i just want to say to Abbot Steve:  Thank you.  I love you.  I'm sorry.