Death – Ameravith

Soul Road Trip

When our time comes, how will it go? We wonder and may have our own preference on how the end shall come to pass. When it does happen however, death may be more mundane and, in contrast, more mysterious than we think.

When our time comes, how will it go for us? We wonder and may have our own preference – and not so much a choice – on how the end should come to pass. Most of us would prefer to avoid violent, spectacular exits and choose one that’s peaceful, where all loose ends had been tied up and everything that needs to be said, has been said in the relationships that matter most to us. Some would like it where the spirit of the recently departed lingers to say goodbye, before taking leave. I’d imagine that’s reasonable to want. Personally, I prefer stories where the characters leave their bodies in a dignified manner, the energy of their earth-bound selves – call it Soul or any other name you like – levitating gently and floating away into a night sky splattered with stars. In the movies, such an exit would be witnessed by a fallen character, like an excommunicated priest whom nobody would believe if he related what he’d seen. But in reality, death might turn out to be more mundane and, in contrast, more mysterious than we expect it to be.

Continue reading “Soul Road Trip”

Mortality

There comes a time when your body betrays you.

You begin to lose awareness of your surroundings. The warm sunlight, the cooling breeze gently swaying the tops of trees–such things suddenly catch your attention as if they had been mere apparitions before. Your brain seeks an explanation for what’s happening. But the answers you receive do not satisfy you.

Your chest feels congested. It’s as if cardboards have been stuffed into the cavity beneath your ribs. You experience difficulty rising up after spending too long sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dark clots in your spit bring unfamiliar fears. It dawns on you that it’s possible that none of the futures you had dreamed of for yourself or your family may materialize.

Is this how mortality is supposed to feel?

You decide not to inform your loved ones about what’s going on. A fear (perhaps it’s childish) warns you that telling them would permit the nameless to congeal into something real. What chance would you stand against something frightening once it becomes real?

So you pray that whatever it is goes away and maybe tomorrow or three days or a week from today, your head would stop hurting. Maybe your chest would feel spacious and free once again. Maybe your breathing would no longer be labored.

You find daily gratefulness in previously unrecognized victories: thinking clearly, walking steadily, breathing comfortably and being able to just function without fear.

On the appointed day, in the sterile hallway, you wonder how you survived your nights of solitary torment. Finally, your name is called and you stand up to go inside, knowing you are about to find out if your fears come true or it’s nothing after all.

photo from unsplash.com by Bertrand Zuchuat

Death & Papin

Papin was waiting for Death although he wasn’t sure which version to expect. His faith had taught him so many interpretations of the end that the anticipation was getting too much for him. He was propped up against a rock wall with his buttocks on soft, black soil. Aside from the pummelling in his unnaturally angled, cracked left leg, he felt lucid and alive. Behind and above his head was the moss covered ridge from which he had fallen. He knew the nearest town lay too far down the mountain-side. Feral beasts would begin prowling the wildwood soon and Papin didn’t fancy passing the night where he lay.

Where was Death?

The crowns of trees and shrubbery swayed in a prolonged breeze. The sun was dropping over the mossy ledge, and the trunks and boughs in front of him became imbued with a transient golden hue. Papin wondered why he obsessed about Death instead of angels. After all, his faith had taught him about those as well. Perhaps the idea of begging angels to save his life seemed beneath him. Or perhaps he already knew he was beyond their reach. He waited nevertheless. Night appeared from the roots of trees, stealing upwards and seeping into and smothering every other colour in its melancholy cloak. High above, angels passed by, ignoring him. God remained otherwise engaged.

Death continued watching Papin as darkness came.

photo from unsplash.com by Tom Barret