Death
_ Upon my first close inspection on a non-processed dead
animal, I found myself quite attracted from curiosity and repulsed with
disgust. I was but five, and, in the end
the temptation of new information was greater to an extent than my personal
feelings on hygiene and I approached it with a scientific interest.
The lifeless brown body of a wild rabbit lay crushed in the grass on the edge of the curb. The most likely event is that a car had hit it, and at some point, a person had put it in the grass on the side of the road. Aside from its flat appearance, it still resembled the creature it had been to a fair extent. The most unsettling aspect of the creature was its missing eyes. I had never seen the socket of an eye before, but they were as close to an imagined idea of them as any. Flies flew in and out of them while ants trailed from its mouth, bringing out bits of flesh for their colonies.
It both disturbed and calmed me. The process of nature was a quieting idea; that things died and supplanted others in a cycle so overwhelmingly normal, presented to me the truth of function in such a clear and blunt reality. It was something I had not even the chance to dispute or question. It was akin to staring down the face of a sheer cliff and yelling out into its abyss. All that returns will be the echoes of one’s futile attempts to communicate.
What disturbed me was the idea that I too would meet a similar end after my death, to die alone and without eyes, crushed and slowly torn apart from the inside. A cold detachment already existed towards the rabbit, but the truth that I too would be as it lay brought the unsettling feeling of a loss of worth to anything, and without purpose, I felt an uncomfortable cloud of despair wrap around my heart. I became numb to the idea, and repressed any negative emotions associated with the idea of death on a personal level in order to maintain functionality.
These very emotions awakened a few years ago with a feeling of intensely panicked despair, the feeling I imagine prisoners of war experience upon capture or women of conquered villagers feel as they sight the proud flag of their enemies approach, rather than that of their own people.
The idea I find I am still somewhat uncomfortable with, but alas, I accept it, and find with maturity, the negative emotions I felt should not be repressed, but instead reasoned with, and the fact I will die used as simple information. The reality that I do not have eternity gives motivation and purpose to my existence, to uphold what ideals I possess, and to question them even as I realize I cannot turn back.
-Rain Weight 3rd, February 2012
The lifeless brown body of a wild rabbit lay crushed in the grass on the edge of the curb. The most likely event is that a car had hit it, and at some point, a person had put it in the grass on the side of the road. Aside from its flat appearance, it still resembled the creature it had been to a fair extent. The most unsettling aspect of the creature was its missing eyes. I had never seen the socket of an eye before, but they were as close to an imagined idea of them as any. Flies flew in and out of them while ants trailed from its mouth, bringing out bits of flesh for their colonies.
It both disturbed and calmed me. The process of nature was a quieting idea; that things died and supplanted others in a cycle so overwhelmingly normal, presented to me the truth of function in such a clear and blunt reality. It was something I had not even the chance to dispute or question. It was akin to staring down the face of a sheer cliff and yelling out into its abyss. All that returns will be the echoes of one’s futile attempts to communicate.
What disturbed me was the idea that I too would meet a similar end after my death, to die alone and without eyes, crushed and slowly torn apart from the inside. A cold detachment already existed towards the rabbit, but the truth that I too would be as it lay brought the unsettling feeling of a loss of worth to anything, and without purpose, I felt an uncomfortable cloud of despair wrap around my heart. I became numb to the idea, and repressed any negative emotions associated with the idea of death on a personal level in order to maintain functionality.
These very emotions awakened a few years ago with a feeling of intensely panicked despair, the feeling I imagine prisoners of war experience upon capture or women of conquered villagers feel as they sight the proud flag of their enemies approach, rather than that of their own people.
The idea I find I am still somewhat uncomfortable with, but alas, I accept it, and find with maturity, the negative emotions I felt should not be repressed, but instead reasoned with, and the fact I will die used as simple information. The reality that I do not have eternity gives motivation and purpose to my existence, to uphold what ideals I possess, and to question them even as I realize I cannot turn back.
-Rain Weight 3rd, February 2012