The Kleenex has no loyalty.
We cling to our existence;
the Kleenex crosses over,
entering the foreign element
without hesitation,
never looking back.
Exactly how grace might walk
into its disintegration.
But suppose it were more like
a soldier dragged down in the mud,
stained by unwillingness?
There it goes,
sucked into the muck by its own porousness,
its frank defencelessness
against the infiltrating waters
that capture it from within.
Plunged and pressing deep,
a dry tip reaches up
like a hand –
and the eager weight of the stagnant pool
drags it under,
and I fear for my soul.
Yes, the perennial problem of what to do with poo, and of course that fact that bodies inevitably disintegrate and die at any moment, even before the next breath.
ReplyDeleteAnd the fact that to be identified with a mortal meat-body is to be always (in every moment) darkened by hell-deep fear and trembling.
Please find the most beautiful set of words ever spoken/written re what death intrinsically requires of us in each moment www.easydeathbook.com/purpose.asp
Plus The Truth About Death via www.adidam.org/death_and_dying/journal.htm