Death Brought Me to Love’s Arms

Most of my days are spent in terror, but sometimes I think things are okay. I was on the 35 bus cruising down Greeley and watching the dusk turn into twilight, my favorite time of day, and seeing the trains and Forest Park in the background with orange fading into purple cloud fingers tracing the dark sky, and I felt at peace with everything. Then we got to the Moda Center and I returned to being terrified of my future.

I had to think about what terrifies me about death. It isn’t the afterlife because there isn’t one, so I won’t worry about some petty fucking god being a big human acting baby judging me on my wrongs and not really believing some shmuck who was like a lot of other shmucks but ended up having better PR and a much bigger army is his son or him in disguise or whatever cockamamie myth some of you believe. It isn’t the big nothing because I know that nothing is Nothing. It is the pain leading up to death that scares me.

Someone of the Buddhist tradition asked me if I thought about preparing myself for Death. I didn’t know what that means. I have been ready for Death my whole life. I spent many years inviting It to my side and other times trying to hide from It. What do I need to prepare for? Who gets all my fantasy books? How I want a Viking funeral? It seems weird that the only people that can prepare for Death are those who are very old or very sick. How does someone getting hit by a meteorite prepare for Death, especially if they have plans next Tuesday?

All of civilization has been fascinated with Death. What happens to us afterwards and how do we honor those who have ceased to exist? Whole societies have set up rituals and beliefs to help cope with loss and to prepare us for our own mortality. None of it actually helps all that much. It still hurts to lose someone you love and I don’t feel any better about dying even being told it might happen in a specific time frame.

This Christian guy was telling me how this lady that goes to church had tumors all over her body and that the church spent a whole night praying for her and the next day all the tumors were gone and the doctors were baffled, but he gave me that knowingly smile and said it was a miracle of the Lord. I never wanted to hurt someone so bad. Because I don’t believe in an after life or a judgmental sorority girl for a god I don’t believe in death as a punishment. I wanted this fucker to feel pain. Why would god remove this woman’s tumors, but where is your fucking god when I’m kicking your teeth into a curb? Pray motherfucker, pray!

I guess I’m a little jaded. I mentioned in a past post about my health issues and the possibility of dying and all these religious people are trying to get me ready for something that isn’t gonna happen. I have died already. I have died three fucking times and by the grace of ice, a strong fist and CPR training I’m still alive. I know what happens. Save yourself from the severe disappointment that you are just a talking animal.

If I’m wrong and I find that I am facing some asshole who has a ledger with my bad deeds on one side and good deeds on the other and I don’t get in, or if he really keeps those who denies his son divinity out and punishes that person in Hell for eternity than fuck that god. He’s obviously got some serious self-esteem issues.

I will tell you about the time I met my God. It was fifteen years ago and a girl were driving to another friend’s house in Lake Oswego and we were talking about Love. I was all crazy at that time – really struggling with my mental health, and she turns to me at a stop sign and she told me she unconditionally loved me. Two things happened: I believed her and she have kept that love for me unconditional up to this point. She has loved me despite my worst efforts and distance and life changing events. God is not a conscience person; It is Love.

So if I’m going to prepare myself for death than I’m going to die in Love. I’m not going to waste my time with hate or what is stupid or being scared of what I don’t know or don’t get. I’m going live to Love. That’s it. I don’t need to marry someone, have kids, buy a house, publish a book or get to Ethiopia and see the caves to feel like I’ve accomplished anything with my shortened life.

If I find out that I’m living a long life, I hope I will continue to Love. I hope that time not being an issue anymore doesn’t invite back the Fear and the Hate.

Love is caring for someone and helping them grow. Love is letting a person go when holding on to them will smother them. Love is listening and not having an answer. Love is thinking about them for no reason at all. Love is thinking about them because something they Love crosses your path. Love is possessing the Love not the person. Love is missing them when they aren’t there and being present when they are. Love is being grateful and not taking a person for granted. Love is compassion. Love is wanting nothing but the best for someone else and seeing how you can make that happen.

Love can hurt sometimes. Being in Love is opening one up for pain, but knowing it will be worth it. Love isn’t like any Love you have seen other people have or what books, TV or movies show Love being. Love can cause a masculine person to stay up all night crying and missing someone.

Love should never be defined, but sometimes it does when there are so many wrong definitions out there. They use Love to hurt others, sell things and entertain us. Love is stronger and more mysterious than any god. Love is worth living for and should be the reason to get up in the morning.

If god(s) doesn’t exist, you will live, but if you aren’t Loved, you will die.