Tag Archives: demise

Death

Death: (n) the act of dying; the end of life

Pwanged with a silly stick of maudlin muddling, I will occasionally imagine what the world will be like right after my demise.

That being my death.

When doing so, my eyes quickly fill with tears over how sad I presume others will be over my absence.

And then, without warning, my brain suddenly rights itself, and I realize the past five people I know who have died were afforded about one week of concentrated bereavement.

And then life, wearing very heavy boots, marched on.

I don’t know how it should be.

I don’t know what the correct length of time is to commemorate and memorialize the deeds of another traveler who is leaving because of the absence of breathing possibilities.

But it should be different.

Shouldn’t it?

Even people we regale as “planet changing souls for the ages” only get thirty seconds of silent reflection prior to the opening of Wall Street.

Thirty seconds? Really?

I, of course, understand that there will be spasms of dismay for a length of time over the departure of a fine friend—hopefully including me.

But the audacity of the human race—to think it has the energy and intelligence to proceed without me—is a worrisome, if not tearful, conclusion.

I don’t know what to do about that.

But after careful consideration and pausing to ponder over possibilities, I have decided that my best approach is to get even…

…and stay alive.

Deaf

Deaf: (adj) unable to hear

Yes, I have been at a party when depleted chip dip and a lack of musical choices has prompted a theoretical discussion, which everyone initially pretended to enjoy. And I quote:

“If you had to lose one of your senses, which one would you be willing to forfeit?”

We went around the room. Each person mentioned the rejected sense and briefly explained why he or she thought they could survive without that particular gift.

When they came to me, I was legitimately stumped.

Although many people before me insisted that if they had to be without a sense (and taste buds were not included) they would choose to be deaf.

Many of them cited that Ludwig von Beethoven was deaf—”and look at the beautiful music he made.”

Of course, we must realize—we do not know all the details of Mr. Beethoven’s situation, because he was somewhat unable to articulate his condition.

But when I considered all my senses, I realized how frightening it would be to be senseless.

What would it be like to drop a sense?

So my answer was kind of existential.

I proclaimed, “I choose all of them. For there are times that I cannot see, or I will become judgmental. There are occasions that smelling is useless because the present world around me is just one big stink-bomb. On occasion, I must withdraw my touch because it can be misinterpreted. And of course, I must needfully be deaf, or I will hear things that will cause me to remember too long and hold grudges. So to answer your question, I will practice living without all the senses—just in case one departs.”

I had two reasons for my exaggerated answer.

First, I thought it offered a profound point.

Secondly, since it was supposed to be a party, I was hoping that the threat of a philosophical discussion would get us back to playing more music …

… and buying more dip.

Deadline

Deadline: (n) the time by which something must be finished or submitted

Don’t.

Don’t use a deadline.

It will just leave you standing in line, waiting to be dead.

It is the worst idea that anyone ever came up with as far as human beings are concerned.

We are a species that will fret over nothing—so it is a good idea not to give us anything.

I will not take a deadline.

If someone insists on it, I make sure that they push it far enough into the future that I can easily and comfortably finish the project a week in advance.

There is no power in waking up fervently needing to get something done.

There is no rest in going to bed wondering if you should be allowed the luxury of sleep—since the deadline is looming.

Deadlines were created by people who now have enough money that they do not have to observe a deadline.

They like to be served by jumping monkeys and nervous cockroaches, who scuttle their way into completion, never totally joyful over the victory.

Even though all of us have the deadline of dying, God does not tell us when it is.

Can you imagine?

If the deadline was far enough away, we wouldn’t give it a thought.

If the deadline for our demise was coming up, we would try to be faithful—through an ocean of tears.

God, nature and our health snatch us when we least expect it and sometimes chaos does it earlier.

If it were any other way, we’d be bumblers—from our birth to last breath.

Don’t allow yourself to be at the mercy of a deadline.

And if someone demands it, make sure you give yourself enough room that you can get it done early—and spend the rest of the time taking deep breaths and carving apple slices.

Cycle

Cycle: (n) any long period of years; age. 

I am not sure if I am offering an observation or a musing.

Just so you’ll know the difference—at least in my mind—an observation is something that has occurred enough times that it causes me to believe there is a trend.

A musing is an action which may have only happened once but foretells a cycle of change.

All that being said (and offering way too much information) I want to put forth the observation (or the musing) that even though we contend that “everything old is new again,” I have begun to notice that fads and tendencies may return, but seem to possess less vigorous authenticity.

In this way, I think the human race is threatening its own demise.

It is not because we fall into repetition, but rather, because each generation loses a degree of passion in chasing the possibility.

I see people wearing bell-bottoms and tie-dye shirts much like the apparel of my friends from my comin’-up years. But rather than holding up signs against war or speaking up for love and peace, they are staring at their phones, perusing a fresh vein of distraction.

When I was a young human, we recycled jazz and blues into rock and roll—but the steaminess, pain and earthy quality of the Bayou and the Delta were translated into “Hang On, Sloopy.”

I think, in our pursuit of originality without duplication of our parents, we must keep a pulse on our hearts, to ensure that we are a purposed people instead of mud-puddles reflecting a murky past.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cradle-to-Grave

Cradle-to-grave: (adj) from birth to death

Just another night, sitting around with members of the human tribe, thinking about the wonders of the world, ignoring them, and pursuing problems.

The weakness of our race is the foolish notion that we can live forever, while simultaneously being obsessed with a terror of the grave.

Which one is it?

Are we going to live forever? Or will the next processed hot dog we consume give us stomach cancer?funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Yet the insurance companies, the government, the churches and in many ways, the business and entertainment industry make their money by dragging us into a “cradle-to-grave” mentality.

This is why people become so obsessed with a new baby. We even pretend they’re cute. The notion of new life reminds us of our own lives and sprouts a yearning to be young again—or at least as young as our number of birthdays will permit.

But there is only one way to live a good human life.

You must eliminate the second, the minute, the hour, the week, the month, the year and the lifespan.

If you become obsessed with the second, minute and hour, you’ll be a nervous ninny, incapable of enjoying the life you are presently breathing.

If you find yourself overly adult—insisting on the week, the month, the year and the lifespan—you will fret over health, retirement and the loom and gloom of your demise.

Here it is: human life runs by the day.

This is why each one begins with the sun and closes with the sun. It comes up, it goes down. There is life.

If you live as if only one of these will be provided, just think how delighted you are to awaken to a new sun and a new day.

If we woke up every morning convincing ourselves to include as much joy as humanly possible in our sixteen waking hours, then we’re bound to have many adventures we couldn’t possibly have planned—which will spontaneously arrive to take our breath away.

But if you’re worried about the next minute or if you have some sort of fund or insurance to cover your burial, chances are you will not have grasped the true significance of how life is contained in the single day.

Life is not cradle-to-grave.

Life is a birth and a death—with many, many, many twenty-four-hour opportunities in between—to delight yourself.

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Cliffhanger

Cliffhanger: (n) an ending that leaves the audience in suspense.

I can’t watch the movie.

I’m talking about “Cliffhanger,” with Sylvester Stallone.

There’s one scene that is just not able to be viewed. Suspended on a single rope, Stallone tries to lift a women up to him so that he can take
them both to safety on the edge of the cliff. It goes badly. Her glove slips off and she tumbles–thousands of feet?–to the ground below. The camera follows the face of a very disappointed Stallone.

Not me. I’m wondering what it’s like to fall three thousand feet to your death.

It’s why I could never jump out of an airplane. I would have to convince myself that I’m prepared to die, just in case everything fails. Because the sensation of falling is not one that is acceptable to the human psyche.

Of course, I feel that way about all deaths.

I think the old song, “The Gambler,” says it well. “The best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”

Of course, that’s kind of creepy, too. You nod off and the next thing you know, well…is nothing you know.

Death truly is the greatest cliffhanger in our human journey. We’re not going to know what it’s really like until we get there, and by the time we get there, it’s much too late to build up the courage and spunk to “do it well.”

Sometimes I think about what the worst deaths would be, as compared to a more tolerable demise. But in the end, you’re either getting smashed or being forbidden air.

Great choice.

We’re all heading for the cliffhanger. Matter of fact, some of you reading this essay are already uncomfortable, wishing I would get to a final sentence and stop talking about this crazy shit.

So I will do…

 

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Bereave

Bereave: (v) to be deprived of a loved oneDictionary B　

I’m a silly goose (even though I’m not quite sure why that bird got crippled with such a characterization).

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but often I will be sitting alone and suddenly be overwhelmed with the remorse that will be felt by those around me at my passing.

I don’t know why I feel the right to project on them such a breakdown–but tears come to my eyes as I imagine them weeping over my demise.

Honestly, I cannot say that I get nearly as worked up about considering the death of another.

No, it is the absence of me on the planet that bereaves me.

I can’t imagine an Earth without my charming personality.

I’m reluctant to write this article, but having a certain anonymity due to the expansiveness of the Internet and my own obscurity … I assume I am fairly safe in maintaining this secret devotion to my own mortality.

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Answerable

dictionary with letter A

Answerable: (adj) required to justify or responsible to or for.

I find fads to be comical–mainly because they’re a backlash to some previous popular notion that has now fallen out of favor and is being replaced by what is usually an extreme contradiction.

Many years ago, when ministers were falling from grace or into the arms of women named Grace, a nervous twitch went through the religious community as it tried to make sure such indiscretions didn’t happen again.

It was decided that the fallen preachers had fallen prey to too much freedom–that they were not answerable to anyone else. So for a season an attempt was made to confirm that everyone who was part of the clergy had someone else they had to answer to concerning their actions.

You see, here’s the problem: just because you have an overseer does not mean you’re going to listen to him.

Submission is not placing people under subjugation, but rather, a selection we all make when we realize we need each other and that we are not comfortable with self-sufficiency.

I find myself to be a leader but also a debtor to all sorts of individuals who come my way, who in some way, shape or form, have an excellence that I have not achieved.

I take it very seriously, but not because I’m trying to be answerable. I do so because I become happier when I don’t lean to my own understanding, but instead, absorb all available wisdom.

Just the other day I was driving down the road at about 65 miles an hour, when suddenly a large blackbird flew into my windshield, bounced off and fell onto the road. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw it lying very still and dead.

It bothered me.

I wasn’t concerned that my windshield almost got broken or wondered why the stupid bird decided to kill itself on my watch.

For a few seconds I allowed myself to be the bird–to imagine my own demise as the result of such a tragic flight.

It ached. It hurt.

I didn’t think about it a whole lot more.

But I realized that when something crosses my path, I need to be answerable for how I treat it.

 

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