None of us may choose the time and manner of our passing, which is perhaps what terrifies us so much about Death. Not only the unknown, but the utter lack of control—an illusion our pushy Minds cling to like Dumbo’s magic feather. And, knowing that, all we can hope for is to Live such Lives and Love such Loves that our passing leaves traces of music to echo in the wind. And for all that, what is Death, after all? I like to think that our Consciousness transcends Time—that as our sense of Time dwindles and narrows, our Consciousness expands on an asymptotic rendezvous with Eternity. There is no afterlife, but rather, Everlife, or Never-Not-Life, or…whatever, for what can lie beyond Now, when we can shuffle off this mortal coil and wrap our souls around the vastness of the moment? What fear can endings hold for us when Time has lost its meaning, reduced to a deathly emaciated axis on a graph? What is more than Living such Lives and Loving such Loves that timeless Music murmurs warm refrains in the hearts of those we leave behind? I say, let your feather fall, Dumbo, and throw your ears wide to the waiting wind, if only to catch the warm refrains of those who’ve sung before us. If only to free your arms to throw them around the thriving living Moment.
Darren C. Reiley
September, 2010
