The Last Waltz

I was today years old when I learned for whom the bell tolls.

There is a church in the village where I live. Actually, there are something like 27 of them, mostly small chapels strewn about the landscape with abandon, sometimes clumped together, sometimes standing off on their own. But the village church is large and sits at one corner of the square. Its bells chime on no predictable schedule. Tuesday night? Why not. Saturday morning? Sure. Rarely on a Sunday, though it’s not impossible. Whenever the itinerant priest can get here, the bells ring and about a half an hour later, villagers make their way to worship, and then to the kafenio afterwards for coffee and conversation, another kind of worship, just as holy.  

Then, on a Thursday, in the early evening, a distinctly different cadence rang out. Usually the bells trill melodiously. This was solemn. One bell, a pause, then another. And on like that for several minutes. The death knell. Someone had passed.

Do not send to know for whom the bell tolls, poet John Donne wrote. It tolls for thee.

Growing up in a medium-sized Midwestern town, we did not have death knells. Death, if it was so impolite as to occur, took place in the air conditioned privacy of a hospital room, not a small village house on a hot August day. Which is to say, it was pretty much invisible.

But now Donne’s lines make sense, and I have to say, I prefer this local custom. Death in the midst of life, where it belongs, an invitation. To stop and wonder, to say a prayer or send forth a blessing. And a reminder. We are all connected. No one gets out alive. Death is the price we pay for living, grief the cost of our love.

It tolls for thee. And me.

Some years ago, I did a workshop with the great and wise Joanna Macy, who just recently shuffled off her own mortal coil. In one exercise, we were paired up then told to separate, disperse and wander. It was a big group – Macy had just published World as Lover, World as Self, a book that touched many, including me. So about a 150 of us were there, strolling idly in a large, unwieldy circle. When we found our partner, Macy instructed, we would meet our death.

Eventually, I came face to face with a lovely young woman, blond hair worthy of Botticelli. When we saw each other, there was a shock of recognition.

Hello, death. Hello yourself.

With shy smiles we embraced, then stepped into dance, turning in a slow sweet waltz.

9 August 2025

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You can read an excerpt from my new novel, All the Reasons Why

by clicking right here. Enjoy!