Death and the Cosmic Washing Machine

WIDER, DEEPER. FARTHER.

I had never experienced death this serenely before.

Flashes of white, a tunnel to my left. They normally got me that way.

Too eager to trust, too eager to “fix” that which was/is unfixable.

I savored the peace this time, taking my time to chew my choices.

Time. What a f*ckin construct that is!

Cyclical strings, lives, overlap, lessons, karma and people. “Memories” of the past and hopes for the future. None of that really exists. Just now. Now, right NOW. That’s the only piece that is really tangible, that has any power. Even as I consider the places and people I’ve been, the countless relationships I enjoyed, or endured, I know that thinking back to those “times” steals away from the power I have in my hands at this moment.

Death isn’t what people think it is. It’s scary if you don’t know where you’re going, or that you even have a choice on where you go, so many times I was misled.

So many times. I thought I could save you.

But like deja vu, a waking nightmare that came back in different packages, roles and skin tones. You’d present yourself, ripe for the saving. Oh so ready, for me to come in on my white steed, breaking walls, battling demons, both the ones outside of us and the inner ones you tried to keep hidden.

And always my mind would think “I’ll do whatever it takes! I’ll die before I give up on you!”

And I did.

Ungrateful, b*tch.

It’s one thing to have your throat sliced open, drown in the open water trying to cross the Aegean sea, to end up as fish food. Have a palace burn down and rush inside thinking you were faithfully waiting for me there. You might feel “heroic” having died such brave and self sacrificing deaths. F*ck that.

Being a soldier in the 1940’s with an ungodly fear of the ocean, a severe distaste for knives and flamethrowers and an INEXPLICABLE TERROR of 8 legged arthropods, does not make for an effective warrior.

Actually, I still haven’t figured out the spider one. Maybe I really just don’t like them...Creepy f*ckers.

But I know better by now, I can’t blame you for any of it. Not one tear, wound or curse. Much like you can’t blame your ever dimming soul on me, our choices were ours. No matter how hypnotizing the circumstances set up or the intoxicating figures we were given to embody.

Though if I had to pick a favorite, I’d say our last was probably our best. Everything about you caused my eyes and mind to wander, like cyanide in the most beautifully decorated dessert. I felt hunger pangs so painfully unsatisfied, it didn’t matter how entwined I was in your flesh. Your whispers would crawl in my ears and bury in the heat of my heart. The sickness of my longing was only made more pronounced when our time as lovers was severed short.

To once again, watch you slip the knife in my back while sliding your hand into another’s.

Now that I have time to think about it, I think I'll stick with the poison analogy. Knives are far too obvious and to put it bluntly, HA! Far too quick.

The fatal erosion of my soul and the ever waning trust in myself. I really should have trusted myself. But I sipped on your sweet wines with that metallic aftertaste. Biting into the devilishly dark chocolate cake, willfully ignoring the faint sour scent. All my senses warned, told me not to let another single drop down my throat...GULP.

I let you consume me. My own personal energy vampire, my mind would reason it all out, "You are made for each other!”

Yeah, made to be a pain in my ass.

The stars dance differently when time isn’t playing mind games. They saunter back and forth, taunting you to reach out your hand, twirling away at a maddeningly fast pace. Guess that's called lightspeed. It was only in my expectations that they should do as I bid that led to any disappointment. They taught me to appreciate the beauty of moments and grace in being the observer.

I remember the first night they danced for me. I was ungrounded. I had played the role in my losing game and lost, yet again. Big surprise. In this storyline, I'd lost her to another man’s wealth, so I did what any heartbroken Asian man in the Ming dynasty would do, wrapped myself in the fiery orange clothes of a man seeking Zen. Really, the first decision I had made in lifetimes to seek truth outside of our cat and mouse pursuit.

I had been too distracted to acknowledge the symphony of nature before. And that night, the stars danced and spun and twinkled hours upon hours for me. That velvety black canvas was their playground, a stunning universally staged masterpiece. I didn't know stars sang, so soft, like rain drops on gold leaves. Gently taping with each other, catching and reflecting the tiniest bits of light.

Miami lights were loud, the music and people boisterous and alive. I let myself enjoy their melodramas, playing on the big screen of modern life.

I walked those streets with confidence and it wasn't due to the cat calls, those were a dime a dozen if you had legs and looked female. My confidence was independence and knowledge that I could have any man I wanted, however I was far too caught up in my fire career. Too ready to take on glass ceilings.

Tall, confident, with a jawline to cut steel. I pretended to be the casual, unimpressed consumer when you first walked in my fire station, but you didn’t let me slide by. The sparks this time were electric, golden glows in your dangerous brown eyes.

And this role you played was so sweet, oh so benign and I could’ve lived another “normal” lie with you. But that’s not how we worked. This ending however was our final goodbye.

About. F*ckin. Time.

I sincerely say it without malice or ill intent. Truly.

By the time our song ended, our dance relinquished and we had our Last silent exchange. You gazed at me, those deep brown eyes, I felt it. Or rather, the lack of it.

Disconnection.

No more longing. No more searching, crying, begging and dying. Back to square one.

Neutrality at its finest.

There was no fanfare, no orchestra playing a heart shattering crescendo to close our epic tale.

Just silence. Simple surrender. To our end.

Earth. Such beauty. An incredible prison planet, recycling our souls. Like a big washer machine, we tumble and fumble. Not even aware that we should try to get out. Distracted by the messes we create with others, playing out in so many varieties, styles and colors.

But if you get of your own reality show long enough to reach silence. You'll hear the stars and make out their whispers...

Looking again to my left, seeing that pretty light inviting me down the tunnel for another round of relationship roulette….

What era was the Earth in now? I couldn’t tell how many lifetimes had passed, while ideally sorting old memories. Perhaps millennia. Brand new souls incarnated. Or maybe the same crews going through wash, rinse and repeat.

What could only be described as neon green flames, surrounded me, all at once! And it was the only color I could "see". Softness wrapped me, cloud like this sea of green felt alive and welcoming. Like a home or a family I had forgotten about in all my waking dreams. And like waves of amnesia, all at once my memories turned fuzzy. My being and the green flames lost boundaries, I became it and it became me. And then a whole new feeling merged into me, overtaking every previous thought, emotion, memory and sensation....Liberation. I became Free.