SurgeThe Beating Pulse

He was sitting upright on the couch, swaying slightly, words starting to slip away from him. I stood in front of him, holding him steady, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. He lifted his hand Extended one finger And touched my leg. In that moment I felt every piece of love he had ever held for me. All of it. Like this was his last attempt to say what he hadn’t said out loud. The ambulance officers came through the door Took one look Pulled him off the couch and onto the ground. They said he was about to go And started CPR. And right there In front of me He took his last breath. Death shows you finality. The end of what you began. The sharp line between existing in this body and not. It is inevitable But it doesn’t have to trap you. Life moves like a pulse In and out Ebb and flow Sometimes slow Sometimes violent And somewhere in the middle There is a point where both meet Long enough for you to feel the balance. The strength of the loss is the strength of the gain. Two ends of the same rhythm. Once you see that You stop fearing the swing. You start creating movement toward what you actually want Knowing that the opposite The ache The empty The collapse Is often the ignition that pulls the next pulse into being. This is surge The beating pulse The knowing that everything you lose And everything you love Always moves through the same current.