Kembali menjalani yang pernah kautinggalkan itu lebih sulit daripada yang kaukira.
And that, Chika, was the beginning of providence moving our lives together, or the continuance of it, I should say, since the Lord doesn’t get ideas partway through a life.
War was his call to manhood. Maybe someone would miss him, too.
The class met on Tuesdays. No books were required. The subject was the meaning of life. It was taught from experience. The teaching goes on.
Little wonder that when they sat with him, there was a waterfall of affection, lots of kisses and jokes and crouching by the side of the bed, holding hands.
Giving is living.
This is the response: That you spent your days giving. Of your time. Of your heart. Of yourself. That’s how you live on, for a day, or, through others, generations.
And fancy means phony.
In the South American rainforest, there is a tribe called the Desana, who see the world as a fixed quantity of energy that flows between all creatures. Every birth must therefore engender a death, and every death bring forth another birth. This way, the energy of the world remains complete.
As you grow, you learn more. If you stayed at twenty-two, you’d always be as ignorant as you were at twenty-twp. Aging is not just decay, you know. It’s growth.
I am not bothered by the silence. For all the noise I make with my friends, I am still not comfortable talking about my feelings in front of others – especially not classmates. I could sit in the quiet for hours if that is what the class demanded.
How can you ever be prepared to die? “Do what the Buddhists do. Every day, have a little bird on your shoulder that asks, ‘Is today the day? Am I ready? Am I doing all I need to do? Am I being the person I want to be?
What if you had one day perfectly healthy, I asked? What would you do? “Twenty-four hours?” Twenty-four hours.
The second wave says, ‘No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.’ ” I smile. Morrie closes his eyes again. “Part of the ocean,” he says, “part of the ocean.” I watch him breathe, in and out, in and out.
Tell me something, Annie. Did the world begin with your birth?” “Of course not.” “Right. Not yours. Not mine. Yet we humans make so much of ‘our’ time on earth. We measure it, we compare it, we put it on our tombstones. “We forget that ‘our’ time is linked to others’ times. We come from one. We return to one. That’s how a connected universe makes sense.
He told his friends that if they really wanted to help him, they would treat him not with sympathy but with visits, phone calls, a sharing of their problems.
You are the father of earthly time.
His mind had forgotten the pathway to his voice.
Finish your journey and you will know.
What a waste,” he said. “All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it.” Morrie had a better idea. He made some calls. He chose a date. And on a cold Sunday afternoon, he was joined in his home by a small group of friends and family for a “living funeral.