Earth or fire. The result of time or happenstance.
It does not matter how we die. Or how we’re disposed of.
Not the particulars, anyway.
Natural, unnatural, good, bad, painful, fair, unjust, horrible. No, it does not matter at all.
Our hearts scream out differently; my heart doth protest, and hard. And it protests daily.
I’m sure we have an understanding.
But the grand scheme of things barely glances our way; it does not deign to peruse our grief, let alone explain itself or lend us its hankie.
Death is a constant in our lives, the steady, nonnegotiable bookend to our labored beginnings. It is the birthright we deny whilst believing that every stage of our existence is dipping its finger eternity’s pie.
AA wields ‘This Too Shall Pass’ like a hammer for a reason.
We are left to our own devices regarding the outcome of this temporariness, left on our own when it comes to the good and the bad of it all.
So we went and made an enemy of death, it being our opposite number.
It lives across a divide we cannot breach.
Most of us cannot even comprehend the measure of it.
But it is the only thing promised us in life. It is our only guarantee.
And it is the one security blanket few of us wish to reach for.
Where do we go, after?
The same place we were before, I guess.
We rarely work from that angle in. We are not obsessed with where we were before, but only with its opposite, with the aftermath of life, and not the who of who we were before inception.
Fuckability; cleverness; childbearing; making; breaking; reforming; bleeding; leading; bodies that break and crack instead of getting well again.
Words stacked one on top of the other, but like everything else this tower will fall.
I do not yearn as I used to because I have learned too much for that. I do not burn as I used to because I am no longer interested in irrelevant flames.
And oh, but the question of learning. We dawdle, unfocused, as day turns to night and back to day again.
Manana; our constant affliction.
But today is every day, yet today is nothing without yesterday, and the possibility of tomorrow.
Today is every day, a summary of our lives and inclinations. Today is a summary of all that you are, all you have forgotten you wished to be, all that you have left behind, and all that you are reaching for now.
We. We are today, and there was never any promise of its arrival. Exhilarating, yes. Liberating, yes. Terrifying? Utterly.
If there is some form of God in existence I doubt they lack the foresight to grant us more than one shot. Perhaps it is human error that so many of us hold erroneous beliefs on the finite. Perhaps it is all some shitty mistranslation.
Because when the fuck have humans ever got something right the first time?
You are going to die. I am going to die. Right now some of odd-makers would bet on me, but no one ever thinks their number is being called tomorrow.
Not even the dead.
Infinite futures lay outstretched in dying palms, infinite futures, and a thousand million heartbeats past.
My God, the things we loved and laughed over. My god, the things you showed me in this world and allowed me to show others in turn.
My God, the reunion we will have, if only we end up in the same cell block as our ‘afters’ roll toward our possible ‘befores’, that long-term promise threatening to dislodge us from our future current-comforts.
Godspeed friend, and watch for me, for there is no way in hell I will forget about you…