Death brings out the "weird" in all of us. Even the most skeptical amongst us will examine their spirituality, mortality and life's purpose. Though death is an integral part of life, we tend to avoid probing the subject like a voluntary colonoscopy, necessary but distasteful to most of us (unless you get an extra shot of Xanax) Our limited brain can not comprehend the fact that the physical shell we focus on so intensely, decomposes into the ground and our identity, as we perceive it, ceases to exist. Those of us who are extremely spiritual realize that we are all energy and vibration and that our essence, which is truly who we are, is eternal, just resonating on a different plane and frequency. Sort of like suddenly tuning into a new radio station on the other side of the globe that doesn't speak your language. Since rational human nature demands proof through empirical evidence, we mortals tend to react towards death by countering our uncertainties with life-affirming physical activities. Some will partake in sports that produce babies nine months later, others might strive to achieve their physical and financial goals. Me? Death usually makes me hungry, so like a good jew, I eat. It is in this vein that I found myself at a local Falafel/shawarma pit after my uncle's funeral this past week. I still don't remember how I got there, but If you have read any of my previous posts, you will know that I have a semi-obssessive relationship with all things carbohydrate. The aroma and sounds of falafel balls percolating in the deep fryer looks and feels like Itzhak Perlman plucking at my heartstrings in Blu Ray 3D. My personal preview of the after-life and heaven.
Being the "closet eater" that I am, my Modus Operandi is to furtively slip in and out of food establishments and ingest my stash in sweatpants behind closed doors. I mean, how am I supposed to maintain my iconic image of glamour with "Tehina" running down the sides of my mouth? Unlike my LGBT friends, I prefer to STAY in the closet , not celebrate my indulgences on a food-pride parade float lip-synching to "It's Raining Gluten". I haven't evolved to that level, yet. But, I digress. In that small falafel place in queens, after a sobering and gut provoking farewell to my dear departed one, I threw falafel balls to the wind and sat down to eat IN the store. As I bit into my "laffa" brimming with pickles and other assorted relishes, I observed a strange sight. A six foot six burly black middle-aged genteel giant, supporting an angelic frail woman with a cane floating into the kosher Israeli hole -in- the wall. The light that emanated from these two was as brilliant and bright as Lady Gaga's comet. The only obvious imperfection was the pimp-like hat the guy was wearing. Like "Huggy Bear" from Starsky and Hutch or Herman Cain on steroids, it was definitely a "don't", but I wasn't going to play superficial Fashion police. They ordered four falafels and as they waited for their food, the riveting man approached me. "Are you an Aries?" He inquired. "No, an Aquarius", I responded. "You have this light about you that is extremely powerful!" he exclaimed. This was either a very bad pick-up line from a Billy Joel song or a genuine intuitive observation. I decided to choose the latter and our rapport was effortless. I sensed a kindred and spiritual soul. Though his smile was warm and generous, his eyes were filled with melancholia and sadness. I felt instant empathy and love towards him and I couldn't explain it. Was it the falafel, death or maybe both?
"My mom is very sick and I came down from upstate NY to visit her along with my wife", He relayed broken-heartedly. I sympathetically told him I had just returned from a funeral and that I truly believe that there is something beautiful after this lifetime, where all our suffering is explained and we can clearly see the reasons we are put through relentless training by our Creator. He nodded in agreement with my spiritual assessment. I imparted some of my personal trials and challenges and he immediately asked me if I was married. I seriously astounded myself by automatically responding, "I'm married to G-d". Though I am obviously not a priest, nun or Rabbi, I feel as if G-d IS my soul mate, partner and parent. It was a personal and revealing moment. One soul recognizing another. As I teared up, this big, beautiful man, whose heart was even larger, gave me a bear hug! I felt like Sandra Bullock in "The Blind Side". I asked him what his mom's name was and that I would pray for her speedy recovery. "Helen", he replied as he and his spouse left. The remaining customers, which included an elderly Jewish man and a surprised Juicy-ensconsed teenager stared at me. "It's Bashert"! said the "shawarmic" commentator. (Bashert referring to "Kismet") " That was a phenomenal demonstration of unconditional love." It was true. I was giving and receiving love...unconditionally. Funny what Death brings out in some of us.
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