On Death
This isn’t a death wish, but rather a wish for my death. A wish to bring peace to Man’s greatest fear. The prominence of our passing that holds us prisoner to fate’s unbreakable promise. Only God knows the juncture, but I have a vision for the verge which brings solace to meeting my final breath.
I’ve always carried an image of a cold, dark night. Far away from anyone else, alone, in nature. Lying on my back and looking up at a star-filled sky. Gazing up past the moon and straight into the eyes of Heaven. In the comfort of providence I picture a blanket of stillness- a capitulation to destiny; no fight or struggle, only quietude and acceptance for my conclusion on Earth.
In the final moments of my life with the surety of no tomorrow, I can exhale the burden of striving that had saturated all of my days. At the end of the road, there is nothing left for you to do. All of your minutes have been accounted for and all of your accomplishments have been fulfilled. For everything we were meant to do in life we will have done. Anything that remains was not intended for you at all. Perhaps the only point of understanding this is when we are standing at the brink of existence. Maybe then I can smile knowing everything I had done was enough. My race had been ran with endurance, and like a sprinter crossing a finish line I can collapse myself in the glory of victory.
With no tomorrow, I release the guardrails of my heart which have sheltered me in protection, fighting consciously to steer me from my sinful nature. My body lies motionless, incapable of harm. I am useless. No longer a target for the Devil’s schemes, I hear his sigh of defeat. The shield of a thousand angels can rest as my soul will soon be carried above by the Most High. My heart melts into a flood like a glacier returning to the sea, ferociously filling all the space inside me. For now I can feel deeper than I’ve ever felt before. I am unbound.
The cold reminds me of the countless times I’ve had in the sun. It takes me back to a memoryless image of being cradled in the arms of my mother when she first held me as a baby, wrapped in a blanket with the most loving gaze I’ve ever received. It reminds me of the warmth of a naked woman’s touch, of hands and bodies held tight. The flames of a rising sun breathing on your face. Or hot, desert air passing through my hair on a motorcycle. In fortune I revel for the warmth that reverberates through my bones. The cold is a reminder that those times have passed alas, but nevertheless experienced abundantly.
Some would say dying alone is the worst way to go, that being surrounded by kin is remedial. But what tragedy to invite others to witness your demise. The slow agony of watching someone cross the void with sorrowful expectancy. And candidly, death isn’t business that concerns anyone else, for when the Creator of Mankind calls back one of His own I see that more as business that ought to be done with God directly. Before my final judgements are made at the foot of the Kingdom I choose my last breaths to reconcile with the Lord – not sew further into the world I’ll soon be leaving, longing to hold on to those that beg for me to stay. It’s hard to hate a dead man, so I see it fitting that all my atonement be made to the Judge of eternity. Not to seek the exoneration of mortal man.
Perhaps this speculation is meaningless, for only God holds the hands of destiny. We all start dying the day we were born and all of our minutes are mapped out before we enter the world. My hopes for these terms is that death, nor life, be feared in any way. For my consolations have been made long before that fateful day so when our creator summons me for once and for all, I be not like those who plea for more time or to go back and do it differently with downcast desire. But in that final moment of reckoning I find the peace of a lifetime that I blissfully sing like a hero returning home.