Alive and Dying

Imagining my death last week I felt a little thrill, which interested me very much. It wasn't just the possibility of relief, it was a curve of curiosity. Dying might be super cool, alive as I am, dissolving into the One. 

Curious about the thrill, I pursued it, gently lest I scare it away. I let it ring a little as I investigated hospice care and funeral homes, then heard it ringing as I felt the breeze, finally a little cooler in NYC, and as I relaxed in my abode, eyes dancing with the flow of forms I've created or, rather, felt into being. Language has always seemed treacherous to me but the sound of it engages and entrances. When I was working with my company, Mixed Messages, we spoke to each other in other languages, or we muttered phrases, repeating until only the sound survived. Or we played with gestures and shapes.

Now, as I die I am ever more entranced with the flow of things. Realizing death is coming I have somehow decided that I am certainly allowed to exist as I am until I do not. I can still croak words, can still make my damn coffee, can still get mad, get sad, can still hug and be hugged, love and be loved. I can still see color and form in a picture, trace it, enhance it, zoom it, can still play, can still write, can still breathe.  

Having written the word twice, accidentally, I notice the double meaning. Entrance. 

July 24, 2021