25 February 2008

'Whatever Dies Really Does Not Die'


(Sky Burial, Tibet, unknown)

The second time death struck my life was gory.

By gory, I mean the one left behind is struck by an inability to turn away from, at any literal or abstract level of awareness, the incomprehensible event that was a puppet of death itself.

And there the griever must linger, made to peer out through a disillusioned narrative onto a ghastly horror that, before your denying, pounding heart, is nothing less than a dismemberment of a false security and comfy delusion of immortality that had tenderly kept you in embrace.

Yes, that second death was gory because it rendered me useless to comprehend, yet transfixed me in acceptance.

There was no 'not' attending the funeral; no 'not' attending a wake; no 'not' paying respects to family. There was no pretending.

was absence and emptiness and finality jammed into one heartbeat that, for the first time remembered, had been deafened by the pounding realization of something greater.

"Whatever dies really does not die.
We see it not;
We feel that it has died.
Death is only another shore
Of the Reality-sea.
Death is only another way
To God-Reality's Shore."

(Sri Chinmoy)


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