A four year old boy cries out in the middle of the night. His parents rush to his room and ask what is wrong with him. He says, “I don’t want to die.”

What happened to that little boy is a common experience for anyone of us once we discover what it means to live a human life. Confronted by death we become aware of our existence and of its tenuousness. You cannot experience light without darkness. It is the absence of light that makes it real. For that four year old, however, the stark imprint of an ultimate darkness made his parents’ words of comfort—“you have a long life ahead of you”—not believable. He had just looked into the abyss and already knew that it could devour him at any moment. Moreover, the novelty of exploring his universe could also be taken away, crushing the curiosity that he had so come to relish. Though death had stalked his waking dream with fear and the dread of loss, it was also a harbinger of the life he might choose for himself. That life was not yet present to him where he was—there, crouched under the covers of his bed.

Eight years later, that same boy was engulfed in music, sports, literature, math and science. His “I” was fully engaged with his life until one day when he experienced something unexpected. He had just run the fastest mile of his young life, a full 20 seconds faster than his best time. From the outset of that run, he had hit his stride and never relinquished it as he flew around the track, clocking the same time for each quarter mile. Those who saw him claimed he floated above the track, his feet barely touching the ground. What made that run memorable for him, however, was not his record time, but the experience of running so effortlessly—and something else he would never forget. During the entire mile, “he” was not running. He was the “running.” He had become the cadence of his stride, the impetus of the earth beneath each footfall, the wind in his hair, the coordinated torque of muscle and limb, and, above all, a being possessed by a mysterious force. It was his decision to run that day, but it was this unnamable energy that engulfed his body. Others told him that he was “in the zone.” From his perspective, he could only say that he had never been more present and yet so not “there.”

Twenty years later, that young miler had grown into a man and held his first born in his arms. As he looked into the eyes of his little girl, he knew he was not yet seen. She stared at him without recognition. He was only part of a world yet to be defined. But he could see she found him the most interesting object in her field of vision. What intrigued him though was the fact that he was not there at all, not only in her recognition of him as father, but in his person. He was lost in a relationship to this little being who confronted him with questioning eyes and the burgeoning promise of a life apart from his. She was already another awareness confronting him and an impenetrable mystery. She could not be owned, manipulated or used. She would always be the subject of her own life with the power to pull him out of his ego and into the embrace of an unconditional love. And in that love, he would never be more present and yet so not “there.”

There are moments in one’s life that mark us indelibly. Those that are most meaningful suggest that the art of living is not about what we encounter but the relationships we form as a result. The ultimate experience of living is lost to those who fail to form these relationships. At the heart of every relationship is life outside of the ego wherein all that we possess or control withers and death remains the sole master of our fate. When we truly connect with the people and things in our individual lives, we enter into a reciprocal relationship and become truly present in the moment. Contemplate a tree in its “thereness” and receive the experience of existing alongside that tree. Be fully committed to running a marathon or tending a garden and receive the experience of living in harmony with the energy in your body and the planet that nurtures you. See in another’s eyes a reflection of a shared awareness and receive the experience of a spiritual awakening that only two humans can have. In that moment of connection, you have become more than a self-serving ego: “you” are not there because you are there.

The fate I create is created outside of my ego and defies the sting of death.