Death and endurance and the sun behind the hills.
April 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
There is a difference I think, between wanting to die and being ready to die. It is a morbid topic for such a beautiful day as this, but last night in the bath I was thinking more about the knife edge of the contrasts of life. Where the brightness ends and the shadow begins, a deep severing slice across the days, that turns the bone to ash and memory.
I am scared of death, Like I think, most people. I would be sorry to leave this jewel world in pain or in fear, and striving to see one more dawn, hear one more note from the bird’s throat, hold the hands. I would like to go with a long sigh, a breath of wind to stir the wild meadows of my soul, and cast the flower petals in the air, so they are blown far over the blue hills into another mysterious land.
I am not expecting to live the long life, not because I drink and am silly with my health sometimes; but I have the manic depressions, and take pills from the doctor. They make things better. Sleep was once such a hard thing, an animal I hunted through the night, always many steps ahead of me. The pills catch the sleep, and deliver her to me like a maiden whose soft hands soothe my brow as the day fades, and this is like cool water on the fires in my head. But because of these madnesses, I think sometimes they will take me with them.
I am more sad at the moment because my legs are bad after an accident the last year, and I walk slowly with sticks – and the world is so bright and full at this time; if I could but wander in the green grass and across the hills as I so used to love doing, and feel the blossoms fall against my cheek in the wild woodlands. Or go to a bar and talk with the people, or be free even to go further than the end of the road without help, yes, that would be much happiness! That would be the Sun and Moon in my hands and a crown of laughing stars about my brow! But I have talked with God about my legs and They have not given me an answer so I think this destiny is known only to Angels who are silent for now. I can only keep the little fire of Hope alive in my heart, and put my faith in the good doctors.
If I could meet my younger self before the accident, I would tell them many things. I would tell them not to be worrying so much, carrying a little thundercloud in their head. I would tell them to enjoy the pretty sunshine and not worry about whether people like them or think their words are worthy. I would say to not think about how you look but to enjoy your body that works for you and not to waste the days doing things you hate. I would also tell them to not leave the house that particular day – but this is maybe beside the point! And to myself now? If I was that healthy person looking into the black mirror of my future?
I would say you must get ready for some long talkings with God, and know that the world will get so much smaller but sometimes brighter in colours, and that you will paint and write more than you have ever before, and you will be sad, very sad that your old life has vanished, but accept with greater peace the end that waits us all. And in your journey you will meet the people who are also young and cannot walk, or breathe without special tanks they must carry around, who are being eaten from within by angry cells or kept to their beds by the immune diseases – and you will marvel and cry at the iron wills to live and laugh, like hardy plants who weather the white snow, and remain always green until Time has plucked them from the garden.