The rain was coming down hard early yesterday morning while I was still in bed. It was cats and dogs heavy and loud and woke me long before it was time to get up. But I love the rain very much and am also heartily fond of my dear bed. So I was happy to be awake to enjoy both and linger in that bliss awhile.

But then came something a little unexpected.

Now the sky usually gives you a little warning before she speaks. A flash of light perhaps, a little grumbling and rumbling as of a clearing of its throat. But this morning the sky had made up its mind to speak abruptly and without preamble. And shouted an almighty thunder clap clamorous enough to wake even the dead from their rest.

‘Kaboom! Rumble rumble.’ She announced proudly before falling silent again.

And although my one and only true love was startled and the animals somewhat perturbed as well. Each one giving such a start that they further scared one another. I did not jump or start or take the slightest fright.

Instead of that I felt a great exhilaration and odd sense of contentment and even joy. My heart even rose a little just like it does when I’m feeling very much in love.

I always feel this way when the heavens open up. And perhaps it speaks to my character one way or another, that during storms I feel the urge to rush outside. To dare the elements to come and get me.

To tempt the bolt to strike, even though I have seen first hand what it does. My junior hockey coach having been done to death via such a calamity right before my eyes, when I was but a little bruiser.

But come back to bed with me and mine awhile. Just picture the scene. My true love cursing gods name to have been so unkindly awoken. And the pets all alert and startled up on four legs and seeking about in confusion.

While I.

I closed my eyes and sighed all blissful contented and let the sensation wash through me. That feeling of excitement and borderline euphoria. And only after I had lingered a moment or two in that rapture did I offer comfort and concern.

And I must permit, shame upon me for my delay. But I love what I love and will not apologize for it.

I have wondered since why I did not think to take a fright or feel startled and indeed never do. After all it was a tremendous racket fit to fill the sturdiest soul with dread. I wonder why I felt so happy and so blissful instead. Indeed I have pondered upon my reaction at some length.

And I have arrived at a conclusion.

I think I was not frightened for the same reason I am not afraid of death. But don’t misunderstand me for I am not without fear. I fear pain and I fear suffering and I fear hopelessness at the end. I fear the violence and powerlessness of a murderous demise. I fear decay and dementia and ruin.

But.

I have never experienced any fear of death as a concept in the same way I have observed in most. Somehow I escaped the dread associations and imagery which are common.

I do not think of death as the scary skeletal reaper of souls come to do grim work. A cowled and robed stealer of life and robber of vitality. I think of death as a beautiful lady who comes to take you home and keep you safe forevermore. A warm and comforting figure whose arrival heralds the ultimate easing of pain and banishing of all distress.

An amiable if not adoring figure come from the abyss to guide you safely unto the final void. How I arrived at this point of view I can only speculate. I most certainly did not absorb it via any cultural influence. It seems to have grown from the apparently fertile soil of my own psychology.

Perhaps it is the case that I am an inveterate realist who refuses to fear the bolt until it is upon me.

But whatever the case and further to all this I have arrived at an even deeper conclusion. And that is.

Who cares. It doesn’t matter in the least.

No.

None of it matters at all.

Let others start in fear and fright at the thundering of the sky if fear is what takes their heart. Let others quake and shrink from lady death when she comes if such is their way. Who am I to correct or challenge the views of others in these matters.

I will hope to have the presence of mind to welcome dear lady death with smiles and kisses and open arms when she comes to visit with me. I would hate to think that she might discover me timorous or unwelcoming.

 

Thank you for reading

Love

Whippoorwill.

 

Forensics

I generally keep my musings upon the nature of death as thus anthropomorphically personified to myself. As do I likewise my fond view of this inevitability. As such opinions generally drew curious looks and objections when I voiced them as a child.

But it appears to me that in this respect attitudes have softened considerably and minds have broadened. As I would feel no compunction in expressing these views now. In this respect I feel the culture around me has grown up a little.

Either that or everyone’s given up hope and embraced some form of fatalism.

Perhaps both. Who can tell. Widely held cultural attitudes are puzzling and strange.