Morbid Musings
I've been wondering - if I were to drop dead and die, right this moment, what would happen?
I'd imagine that besides my family, who'd natural be devastated, there'll be a few others - maybe 4 or 5 who would be crushed as well. A few would think 'she was so nice', some would be in disbelief - 'she was fine just yesterday/last week/two days ago'. One might live in regret, two may not laugh in awhile (but who knows, they could move on), it will cry, and wish and miss. A few - I've no idea how they'd react. A few will grieve, and (coldly) wisely move on with life.
And then, many many many others, would be sitting in groups and saying, 'she was a year from graduating with honours'. Hopefully, a few will join in, and speak of the real me.
...
If I knew I might die, and could meet just one person - I think my life would just slip away thinking who I should meet. The one I most want to meet. The ones who would want to meet me, and I should want to meet. The one I might utter dumb things to. The one who might calm me. The one who knows me, my fears, and saved my life. The one I respect so much. The one who would make me laugh. The one who'd hold me. The one I'd want to hold. This one, that one... oh dear. I think I'll leave silently.
I remember the play I studied, 'Rosencrantz and Guildernstern'. It described death so vaguely, and yet so aptly.
Rosencrantz: Do you think Death could possibly be a boat?
Guildenstern: No, no, no... Death is "not." Death isn't. Take my meaning? Death is the ultimate negative. Not-being. You can't not be on a boat.
not-being.
Guildenstern: All your life you live so close to truth it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye. And when something nudges it into outline, it's like being ambushed by a grotesque.
Guildenstern: No, no, no … you've got it all wrong … you can't act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen – it's not gasps and blood and falling about – that isn't what makes it death. It's just a man failing to reappear, that's all – now you see him, now you don't, that's the only thing that's real: here one minute and gone the next and never coming back – an exit, unobtrusive and unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it goes on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home