Ascension: a chronicle of death
Periscope
Death is a relative reality that most of us try to avoid. Some say it’s a complete illusion. In the actual sense, it is an inevitable journey which every mortal must undertake irrespective of our choices. A phenomena that occurs all the time amongst the mineral, plant, animal and extraterrestrial kingdoms, death is surely one of the six modification of matter; the other variations being Birth, growth, decay, subsistence and transformation.
We are living in an epoch jam-packed with iron-cladded challenges. Each challenge threatens our interdependent existence and our subordinate creatures aren’t spared the effects of our recklessness. A time such as this makes it relevant for all of us who have the flair for the theme of death to take sincere steps to enhance our understanding of this grey aproned-Knight.
The witness
I have had direct and indirect experiences of death. The lessons which I derived from these jarring events have enabled me to form a strange definition of Death. To me, Death is the cessation of a value which we had held dear to our hearts; it is a quagmire brimmed with complex strings of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Over the span of my existence, I have come across many deaths: physical, emotional and psychological and I could not help but rapt in wonder why Death is a constant contemplative inquiry made by philosophers.
It is our obligation as human beings to intuit and establish a noble dimension in the vast spheres of eternity before experiencing the presence of this great awakening.
My story begins here.
The beginning of the whirling.
At 22 years of age, having lived a protected life, I witnessed a whirling whose impact has remained in me up to this phase of my life. It was the passing away of my father in my own hands at a private hospital. Firsthand experience of death, I realized how easy it was to die.
Moments ago, we were talking. He had asked me to get him some grocery from the shop and while I was preparing for shopping, I saw that he needed to use the toilet. He was physically strong in his 50s and clinically stable, though with some taint of pitting Oedema.
Few seconds after, I saw him made fast staggering steps towards his hospital bed and I observed that he was dizzy. Quickly, I ran to him and held him in my arms. Yes, he collapsed in my arms. I lifted and placed him gently on the bed. My head reeled, my heart ached and my lungs spasmed at their very peak and turbulence to the Doctor’s condolence:’ Sorry, we lost him’ I did not know what to believe and what not to believe. My world stood still.
Child in the desert.
Not only did I become a ‘candle in the winds’ but I crawled out of my comfort zone and was ready to risk any perilous journey to understand this great titan called death. I was a child in the desert without anyone’s guidance except the tutelage my heart and head.
The scorching heat of the desert through myriad unpleasant experiences made me strong. The insatiable thirst aggravated by this desert of life made me crave for self-mastery and the mastery of life. My Father’s death cut short many of my childhood dreams. Whenever I introspect on my past dreams, I find out that they were but a package of glamour. I rediscovered that beneath my clamor for glamour lies the salient non-material reason for my existence.
A fine filter of experience.
On an equal note, the demise of my father, led me to a greater arousal through my desert experiences. I became a fine filter and have been able to sift out the unimportant from the relevant things in my life.
Life in the desert of Life has pleasant surprises and these, come in various shades and sizes. A good chunk of them revealed to me how many people around us have experienced several symbolic deaths without their knowing.
As a young man after my father’s death, I knew what it means to starve. This form of nutritional death has led to the physical death of many children in war-torn countries of the world.
A dead identity.
There was also death to my identity. While my Father lived, my recognition in my community was based on my Father’s social status. After his death, many referred to me as an ‘orphan’. This was not surprising to me because during his burial no one called him by the name that he was known for the many years he had lived with them. They said ‘bring out the corpse’, ‘we have buried the corpse’. Death changes our identity. Don’t it?
After my Father’s death, some saw me as a liability and as an outcast. Those who welcomed me into their homes while my Father was still alive shut me out of their lives. A visit to their homes once in a while often depicted me as a mendicant. Despite this noxious development, some persons whom right from the onset were total strangers, accepted me into their lives. Life is really a potpourri of incandescent narratives.
Taking shelter in a cavern
The unwelcoming attitude of those who should have been friendly to a 22 years old dude was an obvious trophy to me. Motivated by my own fortitude and natural trait, I made this decision to go into solitude few days after my Father’s burial. Verdant patches darted here and there among the rocks, it was a mesmerizing milieu. There I sat enraptured under a sloppy canopy of a large rock. I needed this cave time to plan the simple life which I intended to live in the future.
A thread of reconciliation
It was here at this spot that I reconciled with certain things which cannot be changed about me and to change those things which could be simply changed. Glamour or Fame was erased as part of my dreams; conscious living was to become my watch-word. I didn’t care any more about people’s petty sentiments.
All I wanted was a simple brand of me investing my energy into research, contemplation, nature and writing. I needed my own narrative which could be different from that of any other person. Of course, I also needed a career to sustain my simple living and I decided to take the healthcare route.
The cavern gave me the physical solace which I never had as at the time of my grief. It afforded me the sumptuous privilege to contemplate on the mystery of Death. A paper in hand, I scribbled down how I felt about my father’s passing away. I titled the poem ‘When Death Whispers’ and I would like to share it with you even though I had published it on Bulb: https://www.bulbapp.io/p/d5705022-6168-4658-9d35-0304407001ad/when-death-whispers
‘‘The Flowers of fame
Got dried;
The smell of wealth becomes
Noxious;
The song of our aspirations is
Given a new tune;
The wings of pride are
Broken;
The value of life is
Probed;
The moment of the now is
Forgotten;
The concept of love is
Rewired;
The foundation of our faith is
Shaken:
When death whispers’’
Barking Hounds
It’s undeniable that our world’s problems are caused by us. We are dead to intuition and also have failed to nurture our natural given faculties to bloom. We have been dead to lofty traditions which the ancients bequeathed as perennial legacies to us. Could we now say bye to the ecology of soul and hello to the infinite adoration of matter?
We have killed our aspiration for the highest good. Across the globe, I know of cruel restrictions in various forms. There is resistance to immigration and freedom of movement. Press liberty is a censored mechanism in many parts of the world and Journalists who want to spill out the truth were placed behind bars or killed.
I have witnessed the undermining of the judicial system in my country and cringed in fear from pogroms near my vicinity. The sounds of incessant deaths from the cradle of intolerance in the form of terrorism and racism continue to ring alarmingly without cease. Sane criticism and opposition has been labeled as treason by several governments in the world.
Death comes in different ways
As a healthcare practitioner, I have seen the different manner in which people die. Deaths from burns, assaults, poisons, accidents and diseases have left me with a symbolic reminder of how powerless I, a mortal could be. The impact of Covid-19 pandemic spoke volumes about our mortality and helplessness. I watched several patients die with their unfulfilled dreams. The memory would ever be green in me.
All the aforementioned are barking hounds that have been unchained from the abode of Death. When the sanctity of our conscience is violated, we hardly recover from such kind of death. Time could change this narrative. Will the memory of the millions of people who have died in the various gruesome ways serve as a unifying force to a lasting understanding, love and peace on earth?
The Phoenix has risen.
The child became an adult in the psyche; my experiences in the desert made this possible. Over 20 years of facing the desert life, I have become a streamlined piece of tranquility with a refined aptitude to understand the so-called mystery of Life and Death.
Like the legendary phoenix, I have risen from the ashes of my cremation in the desert of existence knowing well that when death finally comes, I have no excuse to give. The simple life that I intended to live is still simple but over the years I have learnt to do away with guilt, amend my mistakes and utilized conscience as one of the tools to self-transformation.
I have learnt to be conscious of my thoughts, my words, my acts, my breathe, my mortal nature ,my time, my space, my steps, my attention and my ego and I have made tremendous pace in my practice of solitude in the crowd.
Conclusion
When I analyze the power and intelligence which the supreme creator has bestowed on the brow of man, the more convinced I am to say that Death is a check and balance mechanism put in there by the supreme force to curb the excesses of man.
When every person knows that he has to die someday, he would thread cautiously and allow the light of his soul engulf his personality in order to obtain the true guidance in his private and public conduct.
Having gone through those excruciating incidences is an ascension which has purged the impurities out of my being. I know that I have emerged out of the fiery crucible stronger, purer and happier. This is my story.
Note
This piece of mine was featured on medium and could be accessed here: https://medium.com/@mikhailikpoma/ascension-a-chronicle-of-death-9985b6c72ddd
