Death - letting go. Participating in an end, sometimes The End.
What does it mean to die your thousandth death?
Perhaps even one thousand in a single lifetime. I feel as though I have just left my own four digit death scene, leaving behind a someone whom I no longer could be - becoming as I am, continuing to Be by letting go of what no longer Could Be.
This little film shows Tuesday's simulcast between the London and New York OCCUPY communities. I flew out to the encampment at St. Paul's Cathedral, and we sang the 99% song together, across the Atlantic - what a wonderful moment! That made the whole London visit worth it - when Londoners held up a sheet to show the Stop Shopping Choir from Wall Street.
Join critically acclaimed author, KtB editor, and OccupyWriters.com founder Jeff Sharlet and the unstoppable evangelists of anti-consumerism Reverend Billy and Savitri D for a discussion about religion and politics in the Occupy movement and beyond.(more)
daily perched upon recumbent chair
outward into nothingness left to stare
lost for reason or purpose to find, to care
wearing sweat smelling t-shirt, shit-stained underwear
wrinkled skin, baggy bloodshot eyes, growing nose hair
the gifts to aging youth that have laid themselves bare
senility of mind, a wish to forget what is not there
A few weeks ago I let my dog out in the morning as usual and as soon as I put her on her cable I realized it was broken, rusted through. I let her out anyway and waited for her to do her business then we went back inside and I went about doing the things I had planned for the day and forgot about the broken lead. About noon I laid down and took a nap, thinking I would get up shortly.
Death anxiety is driving me crazy! Simply put, I need my soul friends. Its been a long time since I visited here. Life has been full of paradox, upheaval, settling... the wheel continues to turn.
I have been weak and needed feeding,
I have been foolish and needed guidence,
I have been destructive and have been forgiven,
I have been the drunk and have been sober,
I have been the rebel and have been a follower,
I have been the cheater and I have been the faithful.
I have been a killer and I have been the lover,
I have been the sick and have been the healer
Impenetrable walls of fear rise to the blackened sky
Youngest of children ask for a reason to why
The older of them respond telling of days gone by
When the true goodness of humanity seemed to die
Powerful nations embattled - liberty and freedom the cry
Though the truth to the reason it did belie
Unscrupulous minds’ of leaders voice their lie
As more individuals suffering a terminal illness insist on taking charge of how they approach their end-to-life process, pressure is growing for societal institutions such as government, justice and medicine to enter into informed and compassionate discussions on this standing, contentious issue of allowing individuals the right to choose a dignified death.
My nephew died recently at the age of twenty-nine. It was sudden and unexpected - a deep tragedy for the family. Being on the periphery for the first few days after the news reached me, I was more able than most to devote myself to prayer, contemplation, readings and quietness. Placing my nephew in the center of my thoughts I could think, speak or read with him clearly in mind.
When a life’s direction is built upon a foundation of belief or beliefs regardless of orientation i.e.; religion, politics or even a professional sport team; what happens when the principles of that belief begin to show cracks or even to crumble before you. What do you do? Where do you turn? In what or in whom, do you ever trust to believe from that point forward?
Very few of us know how much we must change. We talk of climate change but not human change. We look through a window and envision a completely different vision of life on this Earth. And then that window actually is a door. We open it and we walk to our first task – and that might be gentle sustaining love, or a shout of horror.
After a long absence I again find myself surrounded by the lost, the dieing. Those that can not, do not see their dire predicament. Many will blot out the events of only yesterday in the pursuit of what they "need". I sense their hardness brought on by lives not worth living. A young man trembles from his cravings.
A short time ago I posted here the story of two children and their lives. I described how they were born into a disadvantaged background, being addicted to heroin through their mother before they were born. They were twins, a boy and a girl. I told how their chances in life were equal - or appeared to be - and severely limited.
Through out my life, exploring the ‘unknown’ to derive some sense of understanding to it, the question of what comes following my death has been an obvious fascination as I am sure it is for most living beings.
I don't know about any of you out there, but I'm afraid to die. I wish I could be like all the other young adults in my life who claim they aren't afraid to die, or the many more who don't really think it will happen (well, I'd rather not be them, but it would make things a lot easier. I suppose the most important aspects/experiences of life aren't by any means easy).
"Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we have been waiting for." — Hopi elders
