The Matter With Death
The matter with death is that the flow of Life goes on, and we are
just gone; simply gone from one planet orbiting one star in one
galaxy among a universe of galaxies.
No trains in the distant valley would stop...
Only the cold day in Winter
Might change
Just a little
When the sun shines into blue
And white whisps of cirrus
Gather to briefly signal the change
We just do not matter as much as we sometimes - often - believe or
would like to believe, and all that we can hope for, perhaps, is
that someone or some many may remember us, or that some
compassionate deed of ours, some Presencing of The Numinous we had
the fortune to presence in our life, may aid or help or have helped
or aided some others in some way to live as we in the moments of our
dying perhaps felt, remembered, we should have: born along by such
nobility of personal love gently shared as made us reach out to
where all our hopes and every Paradise, past-present-future, were
born bringing such comfort and such beauty, such a wordless sense of
goodness, that we in such moments became as happy children, again;
there where no conflict touched us, no doubts assailed us, no hunger
drained us, and no threats came to threaten or restrain.
There was only the warming Sun as that morning when two
new lovers, newly-born, betook themselves out to where a white
sandy beach met with sea and where they swam swam together until
tiredness came to bring them back to shore: no world beyond their
world, there. Footprints soon washed away, by waveful sea.
So Life as Nature so presenced, here, will flow on: past our
passing. To smooth out with durations of centuries our mistakes, our
worries, doubts and fears, and such interference as perhaps so kept
us once suffused with a passion and sometimes manipulation and lies,
born from bloated self-importance and the delusive ideation of
individual Change.
For there is no destiny that comes to shake, mould, preen and make
us: only the flow that carries us while we with our illusion of self
so lasts. All we are, are moments, passing: as the falling leaf of
Autumn falls, having lost its Springful green, no one there to
blame.
We just do not matter as we hope, believe, or would like to believe,
we do: for there is no you or I or we to hold us here. Only one
Life, presenced, here and growing, flowing - one Earth turning where
one Sun lights one small part of our greater cosmic dark.
David Myatt
August 2011 CE
