A friend died overnight; the second friend in as many weeks to leave this plane of existence. Lisa had a terminal illness — Wegener's GPA — and had just been released into hospice when she passed... a poignant reminder of just how fragile and fleeting life can be.
We got to be friends because she was a fellow artist, and we showed her work at our small art gallery here in town.
Winter sunset on the bay
Humans and Death: Mixed Emotions
It's funny how differently we humans respond to death. Lisa seemed completely at peace with her own demise... one of the few people I have met who fully accepted and embraced the notion that "Death is a natural part of living."
We are so different — as a species — with our approaches. I remember, as a teenager, how many people seemed uncomfortable with the fact that I had no "fear" of death... this (granted) set against a backdrop that I was sporadically suicidal at the the time. But I never saw death as something to be feared.
I still don't.
My friend Bill once observed: "If you're afraid of death, it probably means you realize that you're not doing a very good job of living!"
In some sense, he's probably right. Or not. Does it really matter?
Now, the physical pain associated with the protracted decay resulting from an agonizing terminal illness? That I have some fear of. Not death itself... just the pain. Suffering sucks.
Hence, I am happy for Lisa. And it's not a platitude to say that she's "in a better place" now... because whereas we have no idea what really comes after life, we most likely can be assured that the pain and suffering associated with the gradual decay of our current "meatsuits" is probably over.
Sunflowers
I Almost Died, Once...
I fell out of a tree when I was a kid, hit a branch with my back on the way down, landed on my back and was clinically dead for some minutes before slamming back into my body.
Actually, I shouldn't even be here. I was — for all intents and purposes — stillborn, and it took a team of doctors almost ten minutes of heroic efforts to remove the umbilical cord I had wrapped around my neck several times in an early attempt at killing myself.
Mrs. Denmarkguy has died three times; twice on operating tables... when she was 13, they were within a whisker of "calling it." She also died once in her sleep (while having a bad combination of the flu and severe anemia) and was "gone" for about six minutes before slamming back into her body and waking up.
We both use the term "slamming" because that's what it feels like. There's nothing gentle, sweet, illuminated or angelic about dying... strike that... there's nothing gentle, sweet, illuminated or angelic about not-dying, but coming close.
Life is precious, fragile and fleeting... enjoy it while you can!
Japanese maples in the fall
Reflections on the UFO Summit
As some of you might remember, we went to the "UFO Paranormal Summit" last weekend.
I've been thinking a good bit about the experience, and about the fact that most of these folks felt like "our people." Which — by extension — suggests that I have more in common with a group of weird, sky-watching, tinfoil hat-wearing freaks than the average person on the street...
... with whom I have almost nothing in common.
I think what I appreciated most about this particular group of people was the much above average intelligence, and a general sense of respectful open-mindedness. Or — at least — a great deal of openness to the possibility that something they'd never personally seen, experienced, or even heard of might actually be real and possible.
Made me realize that I find "closed minds" emotionally exhausting to be around. I have no expectations of changing anyone's mind about their perception of reality... it's the steadfast rejection of even hearing alternative possibilities that might challenge said reality that wears thin, after a while.
Summer flowers
It's All Pretty Impermanent...
I always liked the idea of "impermanence."
I suppose you could argue that it is a thought platform that somehow grants me "permission" to not worry about the various types of physical and emotional "monument building" that seems to preoccupy so many.
I don't need to build anything; no statues and monuments to mark my participation in the human experience.
Just like I have no fear of death, I also have no fear of not leaving my mark. I'd like to somehow leave this place better as a result of my having been here, but I have no fear that I might not. If I don't? I don't, and there it is.
Lisa's death shows how life is impermanent. 100 years from now, it's very unlikely that single person who knew Lisa will still be alive.
Somehow, it all reminds me of why I always liked gathering beach glass: Glass is basically silica sand and lime... elements of the earth. We turn them into glass containers... then those break, and perhaps the shards of glass will end up on a beach where they slowly turn back into sand and lime.
There's something beautifully symmetrical about that!
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Created at 190308 23:13 PST
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