Scribbler's Debris

Running with random topics twenty minutes at a time.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

topic: death

Right from the start two images of death come to mind: death, the stop of the flow of electric currents within the body, and death, the destruction of a non-living thing. As for the first, yes, I have lost friends and family to the realm of the Unknown. It's the second one that intrigues me so, as I, like many others, have been through many deaths. Only here, do ghosts truly exist.

Over the past few days, I've had the opportunity to greet one of mine. The dissolution of fear has gifted me with many freedoms. Thankful I have become, though I am still unsure where it all leads. My most real self hopes for a proper burial. My dreamer self hopes for resurrection. During this time of fantasy, I have dug in the back ends of drawers scouring for the many photographs that support my illusion and beef up the thought that it wasn't so bad. I play the music that we loved to provide a catalyst for the cache of memories to come to the surface. How I have tried to suffocate and kill them!

Yet, there they are, jumping up and down like flames, consuming everything that breathes rationality into my being. My sense of loss/lost has overcome my sense of knowing. This isn't so easily put to rest. Damnit. Thought I was done. Thought death had passed. Thought the greiving was finished. But this ache, this connection, this vision of the one, grey bearded and overalled, sipping coffee on the porch, anticipating my arrival and the smile I'd give to him and no other.

What kind of death is that? It's shrouded by denial, given artificial respiration by hope's desperation and a wish for purity. What is the cost of coming clean? And how much more am I willing to pay? Thank god for Samuel Adams. The wake continues...

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