Them that die will be the lucky ones...

SOURCE: Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island

I have been trying out concepts of opposites recently. It may be merely an exercise to get relief from the monotony of my days in grief. Or it may be because what I am using to stabilize myself during my grief will only work so far... and then I am left adrift.

So, I am trying to get new moorings.

I normally feel that death is the enemy. After decades of repeatedly having intimate and untimely deaths I have always felt at odds with death.

Now, I have been toying with the opposite concept, that of death as friend. Trying it on for size. I am not sure what I think of this, but I am walking with it.

That may be too harsh or difficult for some. I will excuse you from reading further if this is too difficult. That is not my intention. I am only speaking right now to those of us that are flexible enough right now to try and consider another way of thinking.

Maybe death is a grace of some sort. Before now I would not even bend to consider how this might be. But I am opening myself to this conversation. And I am asking how this might be plausible.

THINK - Having the body falter and slowly decline without death seems like a progression with no mercy. To have a body that continues to deteriorate or be traumatized without being able to offload the physical self, to separate the body and soul so that the soul is free from suffering - it does seem wrong, somehow. In this way I can step back from having to insist that death is wrong.

Not that I agree with our society's view of aging, but Brian did not like aging. Aging is not for the timid of spirit. I have thought several times that there was a very small mercy in Brian not having to face years and years of his body wasting away. I have some physical problems that require my endurance and I would not wish it on anyone.

Existentialism often breeds productivity. Death makes things more acute. More stark and contrasty. It forces us to kick our living into a higher gear.

I am looking at my own mortality and asking how it informs my living. I have no progeny to carry on my blood line. I have no great reputation to outlive me. So what does it mean to me that I will someday soon be gone?

It means I take in my surroundings. I linger in conversation. I treasure things that I never was patient over before. And I work a lot to leave on this planet some legacy - some development of a culture more equipped to face death than when I landed on this planet.

I do not know if this post will make sense to anyone except me. I wonder if I will read it later and feel that it was a bit irrational. No matter. I release the post into the ether. I am waiting for a deeper revelation of things. And, I include you among my trusted friends to go there.