Monday, 13 June 2011

When we die like the Dandelions do

I woke up with a cough and struggled to breathe. It was particularly bad this morning and the sharp pain in my chest was unbearable and left me irritable.
 I was putting on my coat at the front door when my wife looked at me frowning.”Where are you going” she asked.”I am on my way out to go and see the little flower “I mumbled and left for the woods and a feeling of increasingly hostility settled inside me.” I am nobodies God damn baby “I thought loudly and suddenly felt guilty because she sacrificed so much during that horrible time of my treatment.
It was a beautiful day and the sky was a deep Prussian blue with a few whiffs of clouds floating aimlessly in space. My mind enjoyed this scenery but it seemed my body was screaming me be back into my bedroom with the shutters closed and the central heating on.
 Approaching the old wood of pine trees I was for the first time aware how they swayed in the bosom and rhythm of the wind and how a soft and sad sound came from them as if somebody died.
I came at the spot where I settled my little flower the day before and the discovery left me cold with a sweat. Shock forced me on my knees because I found that the little flower perished all brown and shrivelled up.
 Tears welled up in his eyes and the feeling of utter despair over flooded his repressive state and he cried out of a centre inside him he never knew existed.
“I am sorry, I am so terribly sorry and I am the cause of your death little flower.” Sobbing and burying the little flower he sang a hymn therefore formalizing the proceedings of the funeral of the little flower.
Feeling somebody watching him he looked up and saw an old man looking steady and serene at him.
He looked dignified and reminded him of somebody he saw once maybe on the cinema or the museum.”Ah now I remember “as the thought shot through his mind”

The Marcus Aureluis look alike spoke authoritatively but tender “The live expectancy of a Dandelion is maybe four or five months at most and then it returns back to the elements that constituted it. Build from dust he turns back to dust leaving its dual existence to unify again with the primal Oneness of the universe.”
The old man pulled me up seeing that I am unable to do so myself and continued with his talk “That is why you will find that Dandelions do not need your tears and if you observe closely next to the dead little flower you will see that her seeds is already submerging into the soil, soon to start sprouting a new life, where your little flower left it”
Smiling he said “But you are not crying for the death of that little flower because that little being lived without remorse or conflict, you are simply projecting your own fears into that little flower because you are too scared to fear your own confrontation with death, feeling all sorry for yourself and the struggle to detach yourself from your possessive self “   
     
 Feeling furious I cried “Who the hell are you and for the record I am dying of cancer you insensitive bastard!
“Oh you know who I am and why I am here friend “said the old man whose face light up with a little chuckle.” Oh come on old fart are you playing the grim reaper, it’s a bloody sick joke and who put you up to this shock tactic “
I was looking around me for the closest rock or stick in case the bearded one was some kind of serial killer but he said “There is nothing supernatural occurring here and I am merely your conscience you yet again projected into an image. I am also your gut confirming your suspicion that you will be corpus mortis in less than five minutes.”   
“Death means nothing to you the departed one and the consequences of death stay in the lives and memory of those that will grief your loss and then continue with their lives till their line is drawn” 
“Be at peace and stand tall, death will not sting....and you will leave fond memories to those that loved you passionately...it will seem that your presence is still there to comfort them but that is of course fiction.”
Feeling a black film covering his eyes he uttered “at last I understand and that is to drop the ego and to embrace the universal.         
 Feeling concerned his wife went to go look for him in the woods and she found him next to the dead little yellow flower. His eyes were open and it was staring blank into the deep blue void and his whole face smiled. 
On the eve of her husband’s funeral she kept her self busy by packing and organising her husband notes, books and letters in his study. Working through their love letters and photos she found a little scroll tied with a red ribbon. When she opened it she saw a poem of her husband’s last wishes.     
When I die

When I die
Do not confine me
To a box or catacomb wall

Burn and scatter
My earth to orchard virile winds

Unleash my particle lightness
To the Hex river valley

Where laughter and dreaming was easy
as spring trees blossom

Should our child enquire?

Take her there
and let the spirit that
dwells between these mountains

play through her hair
and touch her cheeks

whispering through cliffs and ridges
that daddy never left her side
Crying without anybody having success to console her she picked up the receiver of the phone and contacted the funeral room saying “I want to make changes to the funeral planning I gave.”
Her daughter seeing her sadness walked up to her and gave her the look of the ancient sages and said” Do not worry mommy father is with that Dandelion in heaven.          

2 comments:

  1. beautiful story.
    it does make a difference when one changes one's mind.

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  2. Thia is so beautiful its sad but at the same time reassuring

    ReplyDelete