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It is possible, I think, to visit with death at certain times; for me, one such time is in the early morning, when no one is awake and it is very still. The sun has just come up, it is a new day, and not even the birds have roused themselves yet. I too am not fully awake. The presence of death can be felt, though it is somewhat fuzzy, slightly remote.
Death itself is silent, unmoving. It is simply a presence at the periphery of my consciousness. Waiting. Simply waiting, wordlessly. I don't find myself frightened or jolted. Death has no depth or substance; it is all together sheer, transparent, invisible really, but still there, nonetheless. I don't believe death is present as a reminder to live any more than my shadow exists to communicate something about life or death. Death stands motionless like a redwood or cypress or rock (but without density). Ah, yes, before the day has begun, I know that you (death) are here. There is in effect no forgetting.
heading to the car
an ant carrying another
back
Robert,
ReplyDeletethanks for this description of Her.
W. H. Auden already asked: Who's sitting next to you? It may be Death.
She is for sure one’s company. Who can throw away all empty chairs? But even so, She always stands by you.
Death sitting somewhere between the light and the darkness. I see Her, hmm, closer to the darkness.
Death — She’s enigma, a riddle placed in my memory; unsolved until right time comes, so hardly to forget. She’s a puzzle created by my own life. I keep its the last piece. No one is able to miss it.
Remembering Her and forgetting at the same time—that’s why She is a way of silence.
Bearing the SILENCE in many languages.
empty chair again—
entering without knocking
autumn wind
best wishes,
Lech