What Mohamed Ali, My Mother, and You Have in Common

On this Saturday morning here in NYC after being with my 88 year old mom for the last two weeks in Chicago.

As the white billowy clouds float above the skyline with more clouds and rain coming in the afternoon, I reflect on how this relates to Mohamed Ali and my mother.

Rain is coming, but in this moment, it is beautiful. (and for me, I even love the rain) Strange connection you ask between the weather, Ali, and my mother? Perhaps, but bare with me. I think you’ll see where I’m going.

You may not know but Ali had 30 years of battling Parkinson’s disease, yet he stayed alive and lived each moment as best he could for his family, for his charities, for his life.

This means I’m sure there were unhappy days. Yet other days or moments were grounded in gratitude, as he had often said. My mother is 88, grateful for life, yet often battling the reality that her time is limited and her body is failing her. Depression is often an underlying flavor of her day.

Yet when with people, friends, her kids and family, she lights up, as if death is forgotten. Challenged by life in some ways, yet not missing the moments when she’s here.

This is not a superficial “override pain and just be happy” blog post. Not at all. Rather, it is the essence of our work, letting go, but first and foremost embracing with compassion our own sadness, depression, confusion, and challenges. Letting up on the hammer we beat ourselves up with.

We are doing the best we can. Beating ourselves up, or fighting against the body’s aging is futile. Compassion means seeing these worldly realities, and also knowing the deepest truth of your heart, your being that is more than your body, the you that is even sensing this very moment.

This simplicity is where Mohamed Ali lived. Acting all something, yet admitting before the world, on Dick Cavett, that it was an act. It was entertainment. He believed in kindness and caring for others as his primary purpose.

His denial to fight in Vietnam was an expression of his denial of war, the injustice of it, and its violence. He said often that he was grateful to Allah, his word for God, that he had this life to live kindly and to serve others.

Mohamed Ali, my mother, you and me, we are not all that different. We all have feelings and challenges to live through. We all crave to be more than alone, connected to others and the world.

So today as the rain comes, I hope these words inspire you to not forget the sun, and to rest from beating yourself up in any way. Relax those shoulders and let go of holding onto what the mind loves to paint as worst case scenarios. Let this very moment, yes this one, be enough for now.

Take that much needed breath, relax those shoulders. Let go of investing in the mind’s negativity, and just for this moment in time, let Ali, Mom, you, me, and all of life be simple. Be here. Right here. No where else.

This is the only place where peace and relief actually exist.

Have compassion for yourself. Wait for no one else.

David Ellzey is a Coach and one of four global Sedona Method Instructors, a Best-Selling Author and Noted Speaker. Find out if Conscious Coaching is right for you.

Contact David for a free 30-Minute Consultation. CLICK