In the hospital, where I volunteer, there are people with no visitors, no family, no hand to hold at the end. I sit with them in their final hours. By the time I’m called, it’s usually their final days — sometimes only hours.
They can no longer speak. Some are already far away — their breath faint, their eyes dim, the body slowly letting go. I don’t come to fix or to speak.
I come to be there. This isn’t ministry. It isn’t counseling. It’s not even prayer in the usual way. It’s soul to soul, spirit to spirit.
That quiet place where there’s two hearts but only One Love. I enter the room with silence. There’s nothing to stir, nothing to save.
What is happening is already being held by something far greater than me.
I sit.
I breathe.
I wait.
I witness
Something shifts — Presence meets presence. rarely seen, but always real.
When the breath fades, I bear witness. Even when I’ve left the room, or gone home to return the next day, I keep holding them in the quiet. Still keeping watch.
This work asks for everything. No role. No agenda. Just presence. And so I sit.
Until it’s done, And even after — still and listening, as the Mystery unfolds.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, There is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, The world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other Doesn't make any sense.” Rumi
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