In the cool vaults of water I floated the day before yesterday night, gliding slowly forward, water moving against skin with a soft murmur, a distant whoosh…
Oxygen starvation was an urgent but far-off pull.
And it was with perhaps a few metres to go, having advanced most of the way across the rectangular body of water, that I watched my shadow and a lighter double of my shadow, tailing me. What is this?
What is this body of mine that glows under the florescent lights, that flies through soft water?
What is this shadow that I cast? Is it part of me, and will it ever be?
I try to see beyond the shadow, a reflection of color in the cold blue tiles, in the narrow white line. I tried to see myself reflected back at me; floating in the water, but all I see is the shadow. The tiles are not dark enough, the light on them too bright, too cold, to reflect any more than a shadow.
It was then that my lungs constricted painfully, began to scream. Panic had set in. despite the poer ofmy will, there are limits to life. Holding one’s breath for long enough can kill you. Life is not eternal, or invulnerable, or invincible.
I have swam much further underwater, endured entire minutes without oxygen, but the truth – right then – suddenly sucked the life out of my lungs. I tore through the revolving silver foil, and surfacing at the other end, I realized that truly, logically, despite our desires, despite every effort, we will come to death. I will come to death, and despite the poems and books and sermons, once asleep, I will not wake again. No one will.
And there where we sleep, we will not gather, or sing, or walk. We will not be reunited with long lost loved ones. We will not be alone. Because, we simply will have ceased to Be. Is it possible to be unemotional about the end of one’s existence? When we sleep, when we are too tired for dreams, is there an emotional thread that matters? There is a simple, natural, non-existence period. It seems that even life, even in life, there must be outages for rest, for recovery, for the tremendous engine of energy to be restored, for another session, until the finite store is finished.
If our waking sessions are countable, this makes – this means – our every act is a vital act. A smile, a glance, a call, a gesture, a turn, a garment, a gift, an insult, a reaction, an offer, an opinion, a hope, a movement – every single act. We ought to, in each and every day, give the gift of life, enhancing life for others, finding ways to thrive while we are still here. Because being here, now, is all we have and all we ever will have.
Is there life after death? Yes, but not for us. If we have had children, from a particular point of view, something similar to ourselves, continues to imprint itself on the world, is the world, beyond our very selves. Do we continue to exist? No. A part of us, nevertheless an automated independent entity borne of ourselves, can continue to operate in the world without us. We can share with them our consciousness, the vital essence of ourselves, our memories. This lives on. But let us not con ourselves; when it comes down to it we know the answer. In death, we die.
Our children, our brothers and sisters, our parents - it is all part of who you are, and yet it is not you. In the same way, God exists (everything that is exists) yet everything that is does not know itself to exist (everything that is, is not). There is death. There is life. Both are part of Is, both comprise the reality of Existence. Being able to read this and consider this, means we are alive. In time, that duty will fall to others as they ask the same questions, seeking their answers. Being dead, we are not elsewhere, we arenot listening or dreaming or watching. We will no longer exist apart from the universe, the fragments of energy will be re-assimilated in air, and soil, and subsumed by various other living things. To be clear: we will be dreams and dust.
The shadow and the light, and the being that floats in between. Water, air and drowning. We must find our way throughout the circle, across the extremes. But getting to where we must go may not be conscious the entire way. It may simply be destiny, like a cube of ice gradually surrendering its grip, and transitioning into something it is, but also, something it is not. When it is in a liquid state, other laws will quickly move it, losing itself in the stream.
The vital, logic constant in this, the identity, the integrity, the personality of life, simply cannot be sustained during the transition. The energy given to our bodies may be eternal, but it does not belong to us forever. It only arranges itself in the pattern, the arrangement that describes our being, and then, that arrangement is relinquished.
In this sense it is natural to fear death. In another sense, when we fear life, we cannot also fear death, and the the balancing context is restored. All we can do, is Be. Not Being is a certainty that we can DO nothing about. So yes, fear death, embrace life; fearing life, embrace death, but the answer to the question is obvious (to all who live), isn’t it: to be or not to be?
NVDL: This came about trying to see something where there was nothing to see, and being simultaneously forced to breach, being underwater, I was rapidly approaching the limits to living. As such it was something of a stark revelation. Do you think it was accurate?
For more on swimming and the soul, go here or here.
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