Die Wise: A Manifesto for Sanity and Soul

by Stephen Jenkinson

By asking the Old Ones to remember you now, and to make a place for you among them: That is how grief waters life. That is how grief gets learned. That is how a village is made, by your life being spilled on the groaning board in the banquet hall of life, where all the big stories are told again. That is what human redemption looks like. With all of this, of course there are regrets. Of course. Down along the fence line in the back forty of your life there is a pile of stones—your regrets. If you don’t go down there to visit them often, you’ll end up thinking either that they’re not there at all or that they make a pile a mile high. Here it is: They’re almost always there, and the pile is rarely as high as you think. When the ending of days comes into view, that’s a good time to visit that little altar. Here’s my advice. Don’t add another stone to the pile by the way you are with the ending of days. Just remember. Then, climb that little hill, picking up one stone at a time and putting it back in place, remembering. It’s not all bad. When you get to the top, look around. That’s the great pasture and field of your life, with everything it was now visible. You can only really see it from up there. That’s the big story.