Saturday, November 24, 2012

and if we knew our deaths, in our land...

tonight i was reading aloud to kevin from a fantasy book by phillip pullman (like i do) and i read this part tonight and it really struck me. i had read this book on my own about 4 years ago, but i have some things going on in my brain especially right now about death because my mother is not doing well and may be moving far away again.

i will edit out the plot stuff that isn't as relevant but i feel like sharing this piece of writing that gave me an interesting perspective. the back story (to this part of the novel) is that the characters, lyra and will, are trying to reach the land of the dead on a quest and end up in a waiting area for people who came to edge of the land of the dead accidentally while they are still alive.

from the amber spy glass (with things left out):

"you're the first people we ever saw without a death," said the man, whose name, they learned, was peter. "since we come here, that is. we're like you, we come here before we was dead, some by chance or accident. we got to wait till our deaths tell us it's time."
"your death tells you?" said lyra
"yes. what we found out when we come here, oh, long time ago for most of us, we found out we all brought our deaths here with us. this is where we found out. we had 'em all the time, and we never knew. see, everyone has a death. it goes everywhere with 'em, all their life long, right close by. our  deaths, they're outside, taking the air; they'll come in by and by. granny's death, he's with her, he's close to her, very close."
"doesn't it scare you, having your death close by all the time?" said lyra.
"why ever would it? if he's there, you can keep an eye on him. i'd be a lot more nervous not knowing where he was."
"and everyone has their own death?" said will, marveling.
"why, yes, the moment you're born, your death comes into the world with you, and it's your death that takes you out...your death taps you on the shoulder, or says 'come along o' me, it's time.' it might happen when you're sick with a fever, or when you choke on a piece of dry bread, or when you fall off a high building; in the middle of your pain and travail, your death comes to you kindly and says, "easy now, easy, child, you come along o' me," and you go with 'em.
the woman told a child to call the deaths in, and he scrambled to the door and spoke to them. they watched as the deaths - one for each of the family - came in through the door: pale unremarkable figures.
"these are your deaths?"
"indeed, sir!" said peter
(skip skip skip some stuff where the main characters ask if they can cross to the land of the dead while they are alive)
then came a voice that hadn't spoken before. from the depths of the bedclothes in the corner came a dry-cracked-nasal tone - not a woman's voice - not a living voice; it was the voice of the grandmother's death.
"the only way you'll cross  the lake and go to the land of the dead," he said, and he was leaning up on his elbow, pointing with a skinny finger at lyra, "is with your own deaths. you must call up you own death. i have heard of people like you, who keep their deaths at bay. you don't like them, and out of courtesy they stay out of sight. but they're not far off. whenever you turn your head, your deaths dodge behind you. whenever you look, they hide...not like me and old magda here," he said and he pinched her withered cheek, and she pushed his hand away. "we live together in kindness and friendship"
(skip skip - lyra confronts her death and asks to be escorted to the land of the dead while alive and then return)
"eventually, child, you will come to the land of the dead with no effort, no risk, a safe, calm journey, in the company of your own death, who's been beside you every moment of your life, who knows you better than yourself - "

i found this reading oddly comforting in my current state of dealing with possibilities of death. not in the same way that religious people find comfort in heaven, because i know this is a story. i think most of religion stems from our fear of death. and i do fear death - both mine and my loved ones'. but this story puts what i believe happens in a more tender way, i guess for me. i don't believe there is a land of the dead of any kind. but i like how the author transforms the usual "grim reaper" death character into a benign companion that accompanies us from birth to passing - who hides out of respect for our fear. our "death" doesn't choose the time or happenstance of how we die - they are just there all along waiting to guide us to our final resting.  however we treat our "death" - he/she are all we have in the end.

i see it as metaphor for how we decide to accept death. death comes to all of us (i.e. our constant companion). we can turn from it, but when it's our time - it's our time - and nobody knows when that is.
i am not trying to trivialize death - in fact, it is because death has been on my mind so much lately that i write this. i honestly think that death is only painful for the living (dying can certainly be painful - i am not saying that - but death - is painless for the dead) . i don't believe in heaven or hell - i believe death is just peace. but this little reading tonight helped me re-come to terms with the fact that we never know when death will come for ANYONE.
so my take home message is LOVE and APPRECIATE what you have - because you never know...

3 comments:

  1. There is a poem I read in high school that I have always had in the back of my mind... And the 'imagery' it created has stuck with me (just googled it, and it is Courage, by Anne Sexton): "and at the last moment when death opens the back door, you'll put on your carpet slippers and stride out." Just reminded me of the musings in your post. Looked it up again and the whole poem is fantastic. Thanks for bringing it back to me!

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  2. oooo - i love poetry! i will go look that poem up!

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  3. Oh, Kat, I hadn't read your blog until now. What a writer you are, and such a deep thinker. I sorely miss our frequent chats over a glass of wine, crocheting our brains out. The good news is, a year later, and I'm still here! I've got my carpet slippers on, but so does my death. We're happy as clams here in cold DeKalb. Byron Katie helped me become friends with death. It really does make life easier and more enjoyable. I love you, my dear daughter!

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