Friends. And, family. Seeing them. Hearing them. Touching them. Being seen, heard, and touched. Equals life itself. We are, for better and worse, social creatures. Go without contact and even the self begins to deteriorate, turn in on itself, push itself further away from health and wholeness.

This morning I drove the thirty minutes to Evergreen, constant thoughts about the middah of beauty coming to mind. The green card with the single word, beauty, in my pocket. Those Lodgepoles covering Black Mountain. The occasional golden Leaf. Black Mountain and Shadow Mountain themselves. Tall, firm, reliable. Vishnu.

I came close to Kate’s Creek and started talking to her as has become my habit. How beautiful, eh, Kate? These Mountains you found. Shadow Mountain Home. You. I do miss the beauty of your presence. I’m heading to see Alan, breakfast at the Dandelion.

Into the charming downtown of Evergreen, beautiful in its Mountain town way. Already filling with tourists. A 70 degree, bright Sun, blue Sky day. Lake Evergreen, a small jewel amongst the Mountains here. Bear Mountain. Berrigan. Others whose names I do not know, but whose features are familiar. This rock outcropping around the Lake. That spot where the Elk herds cross, causing Elk traffic jams.

Past Elk Meadow, the huge open space saved by the Mountain Land Trust. Past the Hiwan Hills Golf Club. Right at the light. The main Evergreen Fire Station with its statuary, one a huge bronze circle with a man riding it at the very top. Another, smaller meadow and valley. Another right turn. Beautiful meadows. Sculptures. Even the main Evergreen Fire House. All pleasing. Offering their own glints of knowledge, of truth sent straight to the heart, no analyzing. Appreciation of the sculptor’s hand. The green of the meadows.

Down a steep, short hill into the Hiwan Mall. Bivouac Coffee and the Dandelion next to each other. Alan already there. And I was ten minutes early. Remarkable.

He smiled as I stood there arms outstretched, palms up. What’s this? Alan? Early?

We ordered. Got our water and utensils, a napkin. Sat down.

Let the healing begin. I know, all too well, the punishments laid on the body by disease, by malformed spines. And, yes, I want the ministrations of healing folks like Sue Bradshaw, Kristie Kokenny, palliative care. But they don’t have on offer the real healing, the true healing. Why? Well, they will always fail. Their job is to push death as far away from the present moment as possible. I want them to do that.

Friends over coffee however heal the soul. Death is inevitable, despair and depression are not. Alan talked about the recycling day tomorrow. His solo in Man of La Mancha which opens tonight. I told him about palliative care. About Professor T, the excellent British mystery on CPTV. We challenged each other when we slipped into platitudes. This heath stuff doesn’t really bother me. Don’t lie to me. Oh, ok. His own lapses into self-denigration. No, dude. You exercise every day. You’re busy and able to be at 72. You go.

When we finished, we both felt lifted up, held in each others care. Loved. You see, death is no match for love. Life’s real purpose? To love and be loved. Not immortality. Not fame or money. Friendship. Family ties. That’s life.