death

Though we are a death-dealing society,
raining destruction on everything we touch,
collectively and as individuals we fear death.
We can dish out death but we just can't take it.

We continue searching to eliminate aging.
While we look to find a cure for death,
we frequent body chop shops for tucking and pleating and bleaching.
We worship our appearance and neglect our soul.

We forget that we are integral streamings
of a cosmos that has no beginning and no end.
We came out of the streaming into this form
and shall leave this form as the streaming that we are.

To try to prop up the form forever
is a cruel and ignorant joke.
We have mistaken the scab for the wound.

"Live forever, O crustaceous one!" becomes our battle cry.

Laying the scab to rest is no cause for fear or weeping or mourning. The ancient wisdom saying is: Weep for those who are born and rejoice for those who die. Of course we hilariously pathetic bipeds
run that one bassackwards.

Fear life, not death.
Better still, fear neither.

I love the scab of my embodying.
I treat it well.
But I lay it on the altar of the eternal.

I die before I die.
And am thus thoroughly alive.