And got the feeling that if I were looking at this image when I died I would surely die with a smile on
my lips and peace in my heart. It’s like a glimpse into the truth, I guess, whatever that is, or like an emergent aspect of consciousness. This is coming from a Unitarian atheist…
Death
All posts in the Death category
Heart of Stone – a poem
Published January 11, 2018 by Nan MykelHEART OF STONE
One day she wrote a poem
that ended, “Whose face did she
wish to see?”
She wrote that, and reading it
realized there was no face
that she longed to see. Her heart
had hardened into stone.
O she admired some folks
and pitied others, but the
bubbling warmth of the inner
fire had turned to stone and in
its place were traces of ashes.
I HEARD SOMEONE CRYING – a haibun
Published December 18, 2017 by Nan MykelIt woke me. Maybe in the upstairs apartment? A muscle in my arm twitched. I recall snuggling with my old red blind deaf cat named “Lucky.”
goldfish looking out
rain patters against the pane
bradford pear leaf falls
Short Quote
Published December 2, 2017 by Nan Mykel
“After all, it is no more surprising to be born twice than it is to be born once.”
–Voltaire, quoted by Philip Kapleau, p. 39, The Wheel of Death.
Dark Humor
Published November 27, 2017 by Nan Mykel(Now see, that’s my computer talking back to me. I DID NOT TYPE THAT LINE!)
I’m going to start over with MY CURRENT WORDS! — 11/27/2017
I’ve been told I have a warped [unkind?] sense of humor. Because my daughters didn’t report on how my ex’s memorial service went, I decided it was so horrible they didn’t want me to know, to “protect” me. So I sat down and to prove I COULD take any kind of bad news, I gave an example of what might have happened and that I wasn’t wiped out by it. I wrote an e-mail that said,
“Let’s see what happened: Seven Quakers showed up. Bob came and stood up and told his father off for everything bad and then walked out. Ann left in tears. Jill and Alice stayed. The widow Beth and two of her relatives attended. You never told Polly Evarts about the service but she found out and was there. She tried to be supportive to Jill but Jill was too shy and crying too much to talk to her. Bob snarled when he spoke to you and his plane came and returned to Cinn. 8 hours later. He stayed in a motel. He would not allow my name to be mentioned, or if one tried he said “La la l a la.” There was a “wake” consisting of iced tea and brownies. Beth brought my ex’s favorite pet and tried to get someone to adopt him. My daughters went home and decided it would upset me too much to know the truth so they put off reporting on the service, trying to distract me with thoughts of Molly’s birthday. End of story except when I had two weekends of “intestinal upset” I am still working on cleaning up.
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That earned me a phone call reaming me out (what I had left in me) and telling me what a disgusting, destructive, horrible, inappropriate e-mail that was, why did I do it, and not to go writing letters to ANYONE (assuming my mind had suddenly either failed or been posessed by the devil). I was chastened but then the more I thought about it the less ashamed I felt. By now I’m into thinking it’s funny again. (Names were fictitious only in this posting).
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Some time ago I re-published someone’s dark joke on my RELIEF/REFRESHING page:
After stopping for drinks at an illegal bar, a Zimbabwean bus driver found that the 20 mental patients he was supposed to be transporting from Harare to Bulawayo had escaped. Not wanting to admit his incompetence, the driver went to a nearby bus stop and offered everyone waiting there a free ride. He then delivered the passengers to the mental hospital, telling the staff that the patients were very excitable and prone to bizarre fantasies. The deception wasn’t discovered for 3 days. (From the 2004 Darwin Awards?)
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Making fun of OLD AGE is something many of us don’t approve of but do it anyway (at times). Last week I got a “Happy Thanksgiving” e-mail and I thought sorrowfully that my friend’s mind was going, that she didn’t know Thanksgiving was a week away? Then I took my garbage out and saw the entire parking lot for my condo was empty, and there was no traffic on the roads. (Really, I had gone out to also put a letter in the mail box). Since I didn’t have anything to eat in my condo but out of date cans, I called Bob Evans to order a take-out of their beef vegetable soup. No deal, only Thanksgiving specials. So I grabbed my purse and a book to read and headed out to Wendy’s. As son as I clicked he door behind me I realized I had left my keys inside. I had no cell phone with me, I had not dressed warmly enough, there was no one in the building, even my car key was inside the condo. Boy did I feel cold and sorry for myself. Then it occurred to me that I had never used my small 4×8 patio’s door and it was worth a try so voila, I gave thanks to my guardian angel. Then Wendy’s was closed, as was McDonald’s (can you believe it? I couldn’t). So I ended up savoring what Speedway had to offer for Thanksgiving dinner. But I couldn’t read my book, so I brought my bag of holiday cheer home and finished my book at home. Home for the holiday.
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Speaking of death (I know we weren’t), there’s the old story that goes like this:
An Old One:
There was a great loss today in the entertainment world. The man who wrote the song “Hokey Pokey” died. What was really horrible was that they had trouble keeping the body in the casket. They put his left leg in…Well, you know he rest.
The End for d’Verse
Published August 1, 2017 by Nan Mykel
The purple skein of yarn is no more.
It has run away–
Hi ho, away I say! Away.
Sweater half begun. No one
left to don it. No one, I say!
The sink is empty, the tree
uprooted. My life? It’s
been one long improv. An
improv, I say! One two three
five–no, four, dammit! I
never did get it right, a life
of improvisation….
IF I SHOULD DIE WHILE I’M AWAKE – for d’Verse
Published April 20, 2017 by Nan MykelIf I should die while I’m awake
will I go seeking absolution,
dragged down by the shackles
of sin in my swollen belly, or
ship out soundlessly from my berth
into the eternal matrix
where sins are but a fleet of
rubber duckies?
Hanging On – for d’Verse
Published March 2, 2017 by Nan MykelCleaning out the home office,
soothing the wrinkles from
every dear aging surface once
again, I cannot bid final adieu
to one relic after another on
my cluttered desk top, where
love struggles to reclaim loss.
Rob doused by AIDS, Irma by a
mind sputtered out, Phyllis lost
to winnowing of the spark.
If not now, when?