For Whom The Bells Toll

A take on death.

Fresh off of my first shower in the year 2009 – a date which is peculiar to type at the moment, but will soon become routine – I am able to clearly contemplate what transpired late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning. Lying in my queen-sized bed (make all the sexuality jokes you want), I found myself unable to sleep. The sleep depravation was not from caffeine intake or from sickness. I had dealt with that mess long enough. Thanks you Sudafed. What kept me up was a matter of such gravity that our society is under the conviction that it is a taboo. Death. The last time I would be asleep in 2008 and I was haunted by the enigma that perplexes all men.

My religious position doesn’t gear me towards the fiery (No, not Latin Cooker) realm of Hell, or the blissful kingdom of Heaven. I merely believe that a god, lower case on purpose, created the starting point – the universe – and has no hindrance on the acts of man. So leaving out the choice between Heaven and Hell, it doesn’t leave one with much selection, now does it? As Tom Hanks’ character in The Green Mile quipped: “I have no illusions of immortality,” so we can strike that out as a definite no. And honestly, with the way I feel some days, I wouldn’t want to. But it could have its perks, as Bob Knight explains: “I had a friend one time that said why had he become so popular after he became 85, and he said ‘Because I’ve outlived all those son-of-a-b*****s that didn’t like me.’” So what happens after *I* die? I’d like to think that things simply fade to black, just like the ending of a movie. In an interesting twist, wouldn’t it be entertaining if I could some how “see” something to the effect of “Produced by Michael and Loretta Murray,” or “Directed by the Supreme Architect.” Hell, maybe even have some moving, emotional orchestral music. Wouldn’t that be something?

If you are reading this and your jaw is slightly agape, I’ve got something real simple for you. Lighten up. But if I can, I’d like to go back to a more serious note…

While deliberating the post-mortem possibilities in the confines of my mind, my thought process stumbled. Memories flooded my brain. An event I don’t particularly like to think about came into focus. And almost instinctively, I touched my left shoulder.

Sometimes death can’t come soon enough.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Your story got my attention. I desire to read more. I like the inner conversation leaving opening for more detail and answers.
Coyote