Friday, March 21, 2008
Being dead doesn't hurt. It's the dying that's hard.
After the end of anything, at least for me, a part of what I feel is relief. I say this even as I contemplate the truth that I never want anything to end. I become so attached. Unravelling what has worn itself out is terribly nerve wracking. You wouldn't believe the grieving, the despair, the tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth I go through at the end of things. Oh the drama! But - once a thing is done, in addition to all other attending emotions, I always feel liberated. Do you know what I'm talking about?
When one door closes, a window definitely always opens, always. Even if it's the end of something fantastic, or if it was sudden and unexpected, afterwards I feel a nice breeze blowing through the now opened window. I'm talking about the end of relationships with individuals, with communities, the end of a job, the last few weeks before leaving town forever. There's also the end of ends, physical death.
Being dead doesn't hurt, it's the dying that's hard. What I'm wondering today is why. If it's inevitable (nothing lasts forever) then why is it so hard to let go, say goodbye, change gears, jobs, relationships, cities? Is all the keening and grieving really necessary? Why? If I could remember that after the end, there is relief, if I could remember the fresh breeze and spaciousness that follows, would that consciousness ease the rigors of letting go?
No way to answer for myself, since I never remember. During the dying process, I'm outraged, frightened by the portents of change. I hang on tighter than ever. You'd think, knowing about that window waiting to open, I could be more graceful. You'd think.