Friday, February 19, 2016

What is Death?

     Death is a repository of interrupted dreams, of unwanted questions, of unfulfilled hopes and desires, of unresolved problems and perplexities, of regrets and remorse, self hate, self love or unjustified guilt and shame.
     Death is an incomplete autobiography, a novel with a plot that hangs in the air of one's for ever silenced in completed dream. Death is an unfinished biography, a bundle of lies never admitted, of sins never confessed, of love and hate turned inside out. Death reduces everything to nothing, leaves suspended memories that can heal the soul or break the heart, can distort the truth or justify the intentions of the survivor's imagination.
     Why does death mean so much and life mean so little? Why is death a million miles away and just around the corner? How can death be unwanted, unanticipated for some, welcomed as long lost friend, a conquering hero for others? Why is death both the question and the answer, the problem and the solution?
The  beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. 
     Why must death join religion and politics as a subject to be avoided? How can ministers preach so convincingly about death and damnation when they have never experienced it them selves? When they must rely on the words of a long dead God whose writings fill thousands of pages and are subject to as many interpretations?
     Who can be more knowledgeable about death then those who have been there and have experienced it at first hand? Can they return to share their experiences and their expertise with the living? Why should the resurrection of Jesus be resurrected, rehashed and reexamined by scholars who don't know what they're talking about?
By mystics who depend on dead spirits floating in the afterlife of the hereafter? By intellectuals who display their stupidity every time they open their mouths with one hand on the Bible and the other outstretched, waiting to grasp the hand of God?
     Who invented God and religion and all the gospels and the angels and even the horned, long tail devil who preaches from a pulpit of fire and brimstone? Who invented heaven and hell? Who invented it's occupants? Why were they put there? Why should anybody care?

     When I die pleas do not cry, just turn and walk away. I want to be alone so I can quietly decay.