Tag: thanatopsis

Letting Go

We all die, and of course, as we age, the chances greatly increase! Rather a gloomy thought . . . but I am firmly of the belief that thanatopsis is a good thing. I once read that in Bhutan, thanatopsis is a regular daily event. Why? Simply put, it makes the here, the now, the present, the gifts of your daily life, all the more valuable and valued.

So, I am letting go in some ways as I clean out my garage, studio, bedroom, and life. Today I packed up 7 boxes of papers to be shredded by a mobile shredding company. Papers include old financial statements, real estate dealings, pay stubs, and diaries.

Oh, the diaries! Last time I shredded diaries dating back to the 60s. Pages and pages. Who wants to read me whine and cry about the injustices of life or how I feel or why I hate my job? Certainly no one! This time the diaries only dated back to 1989, a few years before I met my second husband. I read a few entries and promptly tore out more pages to shred. I even tore up last year’s journals.

I write to keep myself sane, to organize my thoughts, and to think. It is a habit I have had for ages, and see no point in stopping it – only keeping it from going public. I totally get why Cassandra Austen burnt many of Jane’s letters upon her death – too many intimate details. My details are more of a pity party than pithy observations.

But, in letting go, I also realize I need to get a family trust set up and other duties to be done before that fateful day. Power of Attorney, DNR and DNI, medical wishes. So, as I let go of material things to make way for a new sewing cabinet, I am gaining room in my house, in my head, and in odd ways, in my heart.

Thanatopsis

Today I was marveling about how incredibly wonderful and complicated the human body is, and that is simply because I inhabit one. Giraffes and phytoplankton are just as complicated, and as interesting. And as delicate and mysterious.

I’ve been thinking about this because the other day I stepped on a spider, deliberately, with murder as my intention. I missed it, and it limped around in circles until I put it out of its misery. I felt – and it was – awful and evil. With this realization came an appreciation for the Dalai Lama when he had the worms sifted out of the dirt when he built his movie theatre (if I recall the movie Seven Years in Tibet correctly).

So, yes, life is sacred. Who am I to harm the innocent? And what right do individuals have to harm others because of disagreements on what is god, or what god thinks a woman should or should not wear or do?

However, with all the raving about the sanctity of life, of no abortion being justifiable, that the life of the unborn has more value than the living mother, I must disagree. Death is as sacred as life. To keep people alive for years on machines, ever hopeful, seems to be cruel and unusual punishment to me, not just to the ones attached to the machine, but to those who will not, cannot, or are afraid to let go. Presidential sanctions to mandate life of one individual is an incredible invasion of privacy. To keep people alive who will never survive without a machine goes beyond my understanding.  We are oftentimes kinder to animals than to humans – euthanasia gives release from pain, surcease of sorrow.

Life is sacred, but so is death; to hide from its inevitability is to avoid life in all its complexity, pain, and beauty.