The clock strikes 4:00 a.m. and I can feel Death.
It sits beside me in silence.
I wonder what it’s thinking.
Though I dare not ask, for I fear the pain of it.
I dare not run, for in my weakened state,
I may fall, and Death shall not catch me.
I'm sure it will press its foot upon my head, bend down to meet my gaze,
Then blow my eyes shut with its numbing breath.
In its seething presence, I feel isolated and silenced.
A smoke infused breeze comes in through my window and gently pulls the
white,
lacy curtain away from the windowpane.
Alien lights, resembling an aurora, delicately remove the darkness
exposed by the sage moon.
Blue and green shades blend together in a collaborative
frenzy,
like pastel charcoal masterfully drawn across the canvassed ceiling.
An
eruption of sunrise skies fills me with joy, and then a deeply stirred peace.
Death is my friend. My companion. My lover.
My sensei offering a critical lesson.
Death covets and honors me. And then, vanishes.
Now is not the time for us to embrace. I must not ignore
timing’s pace.
So I acknowledge my dark companion’s truth. Death is not to
be feared, nor asked for.
I close my eyes and let the sounds of the wind fill
my mind.
As though in a dream, my body starts to meld under a blanket
of stars.
The wind becomes waves. Water in motion.
My metamorphosis from girl to sea,
I’m suddenly flowing
down, down, down, toward the undiscovered me.
A grey beast stands near this aqueous,
indigo rabbit hole, howling at the moon.
Death is a wolf; an opener of the underworld; an expression
of the wild instinct,
showing the way to creative healing.
I have seen these depths before. In the presence of Death,
I have
experienced emotional and physical pain and release.
By drowning in the waters of my faith and the blood of my
ancestors,
I have slowly risen to the surface to breathe in new life.
I feel the changing season ahead and a spark of inspiration.
The shadow returns.
I finally look Death in the eyes because no longer can I
ignore it.
The site is grotesque and beautiful. I dare not look away.
The Death I sit with is the goddess of the Autumn Equinox.
She can be seen naked with three eyes and hair undone,
framed by a crown as golden as the sun, blood dripping from her stuck out tongue.
She lifts up her right hand and forms her long fingers into
a symbol.
The mudra for “fear not!”
Death is Kali. The Dark Mother. She is the womb of the
universe.
She is Time itself.
A destructive force from whom purification and peace are possible.
She loves to create, just as she loves to kill.
Death is a divine paradox.
Now I ask Death what she is thinking with a tremor in my
voice.
A soft whisper from her bloody lips tingles my skin, like
the truest form of ASMR.
“Your initiation is not over, for it has just begun. In
order to understand life, you must first understand me. Put your
ego to rest and pick up a pen. You are still a seed, my love, born to create.
Drink more water and rise once again!”
