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I Really Don’t Know How to Die
I Really Don’t Know How to Die
2020-07-26|IN JYPSYJAYS TALES, POETRY|BY ADMIN
I really don’t know how to die.I’m supposed to be an expert on life and death.In fact, I’ve been knighted to shepherd people into this life,and out again. I’m charged with helping babies birth safely,women deliver safely,and everyone die safely,though I hear the last is inherently so.
The glitch is, I’ve never died before,and though opinions abound,facts are hard to find. I’m baffled by the secrecyaround this specific passage. Whenever I detect a secret, I suspect a lie.I don’t trust anythinganyone says about dying, or its value,unless they’ve died before.
(Not to be critical or nitpicky or disrespectful, but Jesus really should have said more about this.)
Come to think of it,nobody told me how to be born either. My birth just happened, unexpectedly. I had no choice in the matter.True, it was jarring-something suddenly squeezed me tight and pushed me through a tunnelinto this wondrous light.To be honest, the passage was a bit scary. I heard lamenting crieswith each compression of my torso,then a vice grip around my head.I sensed commotion,then a rush of cold air, and so much jostling. No more floating coziness. All I could do was cry,while everyone else seemed thrilled about the situation.
I’ve heard a few people describe nearly dying.Apparently, they have forayed, or strayed, forward faster than their time,and returned to share,something about a tunnel leading into a bright light,something about immense peace, and a suffusion of love.It sounds mistily lyrical, and cozy,in contrast to the cacophony and tumultOf the (presumably) first passage.
I wonder why everyone wants to prevent the voyage through the next passageinto potential serenity, especially if they’ve never done it before. Did they also want to prevent me from being born?I suppose, since noone really knows,the (presumably) second passage could be as frightful, and perhaps equally or more worthy of celebration.
I hope for mine they despatch pastel pink and blueand sunny yellow death announcement cards,with a color glossy photo capturing the very moment,and a cartoon image of a magical bird carrying me forward.
I hope theypop several bottles of sparkling champagne, hand out many boxes of cigars and sweets,have a dance party that rocks the planet,and congratulate my family heartily,with pats on their backs,on my safe and healthy death.
At the end of the evening,I hope everyone getsa vanilla frosted angel food cupcake,to make a wish only I can hear, and blow out a candlethat sends their yearnings on with me, for someone also told meit is easier to help fulfill dreamsfrom the other side of this tunnel.
Maybe death showers, like baby ones, should be a thing too,to gift my family adorableuseful things by whichto celebrate, or grieve, if they must. Survivor’s choice. I could also give away all the stuff, I can’t take with me. Timing a death shower might be tricky, since the passage often arrives as a surprise, like so many of the best things in life.
From the moment a sperm and ovum unite, also, so often, unexpectedly, an unplanned serendipity even when preconceived,they are destined to die together, (or rather, I am.)There’s no escaping it. Until death do they part, (or rather I depart.) I wonder if those two, the ovum and the sperm,knew they’d made a death pact, superseding any birth agreement, devoted to avoiding the unavoidable, and if I now let it, the fear of death robbing me ofthe joy of frolicking in their fortuitous, fateful union.
Ill-prepared, ignorant, and innocent, I succeeded at my birth.Yet, I really have no idea how to die. I suppose, when the clock strikes, I’ll get the yank, through the tunnel, into the light, perhaps without notice or instructions,and most likely completely unrehearsed,because ultimately, birth, life, and death are improvised
Ill-prepared, ignorant, and innocent, I succeeded at my birth.Yet, I really have no idea how to die. I suppose, when the clock strikes, I’ll get the yank, through the tunnel, into the light, perhaps without notice or instructions,and most likely completely unrehearsed,because ultimately, birth, life, and death are improvised
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