On a timeline of 3 minutes the death
Of an animal, at your hands,
It will destroy you just as that animal goes free from this mortality.
But we don’t exist in 3 minutes.
We exist in moments stacked upon moments in near infinitum until years have passed and we die, too.
On the timeline of a moment an animal doesn’t die.
Thin slices of any experience are moments of such abstracted states of being that any one can be viewed like a rorschach test reflecting your current emotive self back at you. A mirror into your own perceptions formed from expectations and a frame of perspective that is only ever yours.
and on the scale of a lifetime?
Death is the final note in a symphony. Before next symphony begins while other symphonies play on creating a cacophony of sound that is Life. Declaration of that note as poorly or good is subjective. That life was lived and the transition begins into whatever comes next.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
As the timeline expands that moment of death becomes so insignificant that all notice of it’s pain is lost. In the rooms of archaeologists talking in the spans if eon do they weep for every soul lost? For every individuated consciousness, disseminated?
In the end the significance of death is in the frame. And the focus.
And do not think that it is only us who deal it. The universe enacts a rich display of creation and destruction, growth and consumption, expansion and integration, birth and death… On every scale of measure.
In our own cells no electron has a home. They flit from atom to atom and in that instance the pattern that was that atom is destroyed only to be instantly remade.
But we can’t personify the electron.
Or the atom.
We can’t humanize the clouds where they die or the planets that are consumed by heartless stars. We can’t know what an alder tree feels so, in our not-knowing, we assume nothing.
Narrow mindedness is a human curse. And a blessing. We have such capacity for focus that we build cities in the sky and change entire ecosystems; from mind to matter.
And yet we let that same blessing fool us. We create stories based in that narrow keyhole view and then declare our stories fact. Yet peeking into a room with no mirrors -lest we manifest them- the entire cast of an alternate story stands against the door and wall, inches from our face but entirely unseen.
I want to live in a world of awareness.
I cannot live in a land where bias is made law.
And just as I know these things, self evident, my heart also weeps. That taking of another life never gets easier. Gods! If it ever does it will be the last time or I’ll strike my own self down.
But in that moment she and I are one.
I kneel before her like a faithful son. Lessons learned in painful technicolor. Moments drag into lifetimes as she exists in her death and I with her. Wings stretch wide and then rest. Her eyes slowly close. And in that three minutes my soul dies of anguish and longing.
I want this moment and yet I yearn for the one before where she stood confidently aware of her own reality in the forest that we both share but is her home before mine. Feathers ruffling in the breeze as she regards me and my hunter self. I long for a time when we were both alive, together.
This is not regret but appreciation deeper than the core of me.
And as this moment passes I am reborn as a member of this universe. Again.
I thank her for the gift she didn’t give freely and with respect I own my place in this world. My choices. My responsibility.
This is my place in the infinite story of the universe for as long as I hold it as mine, and through that offense I am united with patterns expressed beyond eons to the birth of this place which was also a death of the previous.
From the infinite to the infinitesimal we are all one.