As I was pondering what might have gone through the mind of the man who had lost his son in a motorcycle accident some years ago, and as I was at the same time reflecting upon my own words and thoughts about staying alert in traffic, I decided to continue my trip along what I considered the most calm road. No maximum speed of 130 km/h there, like at the spot where my friend had died, yet only 80 km/h. On the other hand not a divided highway, so no separation for traffic travelling in opposite directions, but an undivided highway. And yes... About halfway to where I was going as carefully as I could, all of a sudden a car from the opposite direction started overtaking another car, popping up on a with little doubt fatal head-on collision course with me in 'my' lane.
It all happened so quickly, that I didn't even have the time to steer clear to the roadside with under those circumstances very slippery grass and 'life-threatening' stationary trees. With at the end of the day the sun rather low behind me, the driver might not have seen me that easily, for exactly which possibility I always make sure to have the headlight of a motorcycle turned on. Even in that instant I remembered checking to have done so before leaving, which made me feel that the driver was somehow really not allowed to make the mistake he was apparently in the process of making. Now, it's a pretty bold belief to have that thought can directly influence the world outside of yourself, but most thankfully the driver acted as if he had read my mind and pulled his steering wheel so lightning fast to 'his' side of the road again, that we passed without so much as brushing each-other.
How sensational can an opportunity present itself to practice observing your breathing and becoming consciously aware (again) that you are (still) living? And how sensational does any moment need to present itself for you to consciously notice (again) that there ís (still) another moment to notice? Was arriving to spend the evening with my brother and his friends ten minutes later in that light spectacular enough for me? Or having the privilege of celebrating my brother's birthday the next day while attending our elementary school reunion together? Being confronted there with the obvious fact that not all of our classmates or classmates' siblings had lived through the past 30 years? In spite of not remembering to have chosen to be reminded like I was these last days, all the various moments in which I was reminded (again) of the fact that I was among the (still) living, felt like genuine blessings. And for that I feel grateful too.
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