Who Knows, Death Could Be Friendly

As I walk along all these budding tree blossoms, inhaling the spring air and reflecting on joys that result from putting the winter down like a maimed mare, I've also been turning over a new topic in my mind: death.

I'm telling people lately that I might die young, before I'm 40 to be exact. They don't take well to that notion, particularly if they care a great deal about me, and even more particularly if they are my mother. This make sense. We don't like to think of losing someone from this world who we cherish. Who would we talk to with the same level of familiarity? How would we feel like we're not alone through life's adventures (and misadventures)?

For my part, I do feel alone a lot. The human spirit is conditioned to feel alone, lest he or she give up the rooted belief that nobody else has the same thoughts or feelings, or can understand the degree to his or her suffering. I understand this. I am one of these human spirits that clings to such a belief. But the belief is horsewash. Suffering is suffering, is it not?

I mean yeah some people might say they'd rather suffer a broken heart than deal with the death of a loved one. Try Jeopardy: broken heart for 500, or being a rape victim for 700? Broken heart, please. Sprain the ankle for 250, or be a part of a mass exodus as a result of your native country falling siege under a nasty, power hungry regime for 400? Twist my ankle, I'll take the ankle. Accidentally getting pepper-sprayed, or being fired from your favorite job? Who knows!

It's nuts when you try to compare levels of suffering, isn't i? The point is, suffering is suffering. We all feel it, and we all deal with it in different ways. But how is suffering linked to death in a direct way? Well, good question. In my experience, if I encounter too much suffering, I naturally feel like I want it to stop. But instead of thinking of ways to get myself out of the suffering, say, by sprinkling some faith over my head, I think: maybe it's time for me to die. Maybe it's my destiny to die young.

And so back to my mom. She would say, but you're too young, I can't believe that you'd want to give up at this point. Is death giving up in all cases? Surely no. I mean we all have to die sometime. I've recently been reading a fantastic find: 'Conversations with God' (book 1). One of the magnanimous ideas promulgated in this book is that we choose our path, we choose our life journey's components, and so naturally, we choose our death.

But a contingency to this concept, is that your soul has to really want to die in order that you find your way out of the breathing part of this life. So I wonder, when I'm walking down Clark street on a sunny Monday afternoon (Mondays are such fucking depressing days), and I'm thinking, I'm tired of being afflicted by the weight that I feel of the world, or the burden of my own internal suffering, I might just die soon so that I can stop this charade, does that mean I really want to die?

In that moment, I guess sure, I want to die, or maybe at the very least: I'm indifferent about life. But the next day, or two days later maybe, I'll be in touch with something more inspiring, something that looks more like faith. And I'll think, but I can't die yet, I have too much to do!

But does god take irrevocable requests? Like 'Monday, I got that yellow slip from Jinnene down in Chicago. She says she's tired and wants to die.' But then Wednesday I send a follow up note that says, hey it's me again. Scratch that last request. I'm all good now. If I can live a pretty long life replete with helping others any way I can, that's what I'd prefer.

But is it too late? Will death come knocking on my door, like a book from Amazon that I didn't cancel before the cancelation date? Woe is me, this is so complicated!

I'll help you along my little discussion here. The point is, and Neale Donald Walsch, 'Conversations' author, would agree, the soul has certain desires. If I choose to live a short life, and do what I can while I'm here, and then go, then so be it. But the truth is, I don't really think I have that in store for me. No, there's lots to do. I'll have to find a way to quiet the blue Mondays.

And speaking of blue, maybe I'll be like that adorable old lady from the film Titanic, the one with the gentle blue eyes. The one who had that sapphire stone. She died an old lady, quietly, and harmoniously, alone, in her sleep.