4 haiku on death by suicide

Living, one’s own terms
no judgement for suicide
Dying, ones own terms

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Sweet Sweet Suicide
The last exit from life’s stage
Stigmata of choice

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On a high blue bridge
She jumps, flying toward the earth
Releasing all cares

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It takes great courage
To take the reigns of death
There’s no mortal sin

yet 3 more haiku on death & dying

No more dreams to live
Heart stops, brain ceases, life ends
A cold grave welcomes

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Freedom on the wind
A bird will fall from the sky
Its heart beats no more

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And when the end comes
Can there be beauty in death?
Flowers in the snow

3 more haiku on death & dying

Ending transitions
Matter to anti-matter
Life turns into death

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Flesh will decay fast
When life is present no more
Bones will decay slow

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Circumstance unknown
I know neither time nor place
When death comes for me

3 haiku on death & dying

When death comes to call
Alone I will fade and fail
remembered no more

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When the body dies
Software will be deleted
And hardware destroyed

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Autumn to Winter
All life has been drained away
Dry leaves in the fire

ramblings on suffering

RAMBLINGS ON SUFFERING (6/21/19)

Of all living things
the most fortunate are
those who escaped….

I saw a still-born hippo
floating in a pool,
it’s legs reaching to the sky
as it’s grieving mother swam, circling around it.

Why did the opossum cross the road?
Did it not see the car speeding onward?
Now just another memory of life
flattened on asphalt.

There’s a black man hanging from a tree, like my savior,
with a sacrilegious cross burning in the yard.
The sounds of wailing through tears
mocked by fleeing hooded jeers and laughter.
And I’ve seen a black man stopped by police
because of the color of his skin
Unjustly harassed, searched and thrown against the car
only to find nothing.

My dear Ophelia, drifting underwater
what was your last thought
watching the last air bubble, wobble
and rise toward a liquid sky?

To a woman: Did you feel free
the moment you jumped
from that high blue bridge
and flew toward the earth?
The broken red wings of your spirit
spilling through your cracked skull
onto the pavement one summer morning.
Your twisted body, lying there
in front of me behind the wheel,
on a street called North when you went South.
The subject of a undisciplined and indiscriminate passerby
who just had to wiggle out of her red van,
before the police arrived, get up close
and take a photo with her cell-phone.

The mosquito gorging itself
on the blood-feast of its host
takes no notice of the hand that will kill it.

The fly for all it’s many eyes
still cannot see
that it feeds, mostly, on shit.

Does the flower feel pain
as each of its petals fall until
all that is left is a withered stem?
Does the tree feel pain
when its limbs are stripped from the trunk
during the storm or when
this living thing is cut down
by the chainsaw massacre of deforestation?

I’ve seen wild mice care for the injured young in a nest disturbed.
I’ve heard the piercing, shrieking squeal of injured rabbits.
I’ve seen the Killdeer risk its life to distract a predator
and I’ve looked into the sad, fearful eyes of an unloved dog.
I’ve seen a deer hit by a car get up and limp away
only to die by the side of road while looking back
as if to apologize for disturbing traffic.
I’ve seen a butterfly with a broken wing
clinging to hope while wishing it were back in its cocoon.
I’ve seen the fish
stranded too long on the beach
its glassy eye blinded by sunlight
its gaping mouth filled with sand and
its scales sticky with death

In Alaska, I found a cassette tape
by the side of the road
the middle of nowhere
the wilderness, no one around for miles
wet and muddy, its case cracked
I don’t know what made me
pick it up and take it home.
I let it dry, cleaned it, rewound it and carefully placed the tape in a new case.
My proud first attempt at restoration.
Then I put it in the player and pressed “PLAY”
I was assaulted by the sounds of thrown objects
hitting something and someone,
cursing, screams, cries, anger, hatred, vicious argument,
begging and pleading.
There were no names.
Only he
Only she
and the sound of a crying child hiding in a corner whimpering “please stop”
Threats and the dull sound of fists hitting flesh
meting out punishment where once there was love.
I sat listening. Frozen. Unable to move.
As the sun set I cried.

I’ve smelled living death
The stink of blood mixed with piss
as the cancer-fill man stood naked by the toilet.
His unbathed pasty flesh clammy with sweat.
He is too weak to bathe himself so I have to help
as I try to disguise my gagging reflex;
and I wonder if this is what the mortician sees, feels and smells.

And I’ve smelled the death of a slaughterhouse
the mindless cruelty and knock of a thudding blow
to the head of a cow with a stunbolt
the still live animal lying helpless, it’s throat now slit,
blood gushing in rivers onto the dirty, stained concrete floor,
the twitching limbs of a dying years supply of hamburgers and steaks.

I’ve even smelled the death
of a carcass in the hot summer sun
at the dumping grounds of livestock no longer “live”.
Cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, goats piled indiscriminately
the rotting remains, not yet destroyed
lying in an open trailer to a buzzing soundtrack
the pungent waves of nauseating stink
this unmovable feast for flies and their maggot young
The bodies juices oozing
from the rusted corners of the container.

I’ve heard the uncontrollable impulsive
wailing of the living that accompanies
the release of the recently dead

Maybe I’ve seen too much
Maybe I’ve heard and smelled too much.
Maybe I’ve even said too much.
But of all the things that have touched me –
Have I let them move me?
Or do I stand in shock,
immobilized by the glare of oncoming lights
that are driven by forces beyond my control?

I sometimes wonder
if the luckiest child is
the one never born
into this world of suffering –
and of those already born;
if the most fortunate ones
have already escaped
the suffering that is yet to come.

White Supremacy?

White Supremacy

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand
Leprous hand
White as snow
You sound like help and look like death

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
your heart is too close to the skin
you cannot see what I see
Your deformity prevents you
from feeling the pain you cause

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
I see the disease you bring
Hidden among your so-called gifts
Your virtues tainted by
The supremacy of your unclean hand

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
The diseased heart has spread to the hand
You build your gated communities, armed fortresses
Of wealth, leper colonies, prisons of your own making
Separating you from a whole world of wonder

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
You seek to unify YOUR family
By separating ours… mine
You burn bridges and build walls
Usurper of truth, teller of lies

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
The lesions of your thinking
Discolored by the deafening roar of hatred, intolerance & FEAR
I could feel sorry for you
If it were not for the swift kick
Of your Jackboot and the Searing heat of your tiki torch

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand, leprous hand, white as snow
The prophesy has foretold
You will starve, you will lose all you had,
You will die by your own white hand
And when there is no more white
Who will be left to dig your grave?

Forgive me if I do not take your hand
White hand
Leprous hand
White as snow.

I was born….

I WAS BORN

I was born in 1960. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  I will turn 60 in 2020.
I turned 20 in 1980. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  I will turn 80 in 2040.
I turned 40 in the year 2000. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

All of my present has been
neurotically ricocheting
back and forth between
my past and my future.

I turned 40 in the year 2000.
When I turn 00
I will return to
what I was
before I was born

At peace.
At home.
In total oneness with
existence and nonexistence.

….. from the mobius journals…..

The War Machine

LIFE IS CHEAP

LIFE IS CHEAP

The fuel tanks are empty
need more lives
the price is high
to create wealth
for the privileged few

roll on up to the pump
the politician attendant is ready
to stick the hose into the emptiness
of the war machine to pour gallons of lives
that it may roll on roll on roll on

the war machine
feeds on lost lives
cutting down life
for greed and death never say, “Enough!”
they only say, “more bodies for the machine”

The war machine knows
knows what it needs to survive
it elicits feelings of pride, patriotism and honor
where there is none

The machine knows that propaganda
will bring volunteers to die
more efficiently and will reduce
recruitment costs

“Fight fight fight
they are wrong
we are right
you are part of ‘WE’
join now!
for the sacrifice”

Even religion supports the war machine
Gods punishment on those who are not like us
the religious fervor of “God is on our side”
stop abortion, we need more lives for the machine

When there are no more human lives
the war machine will stop
unable to run it will rust to pieces
chunks, hunks & clumps of cold empty metal
returning to its elemental source
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
a reprieve on the planet
a reprieve on the life that remains

Who is left to bury the dead?
will Antigone not rise up again
to do what is right?
bodies lie in the open sun
their weapons for tombstones by their side

….on dying….

I don’t know why but this morning I wrote in my journal some thoughts about dying.  Thinking about how we as survivors sometimes make dying so difficult for those who ARE dying.  And I wonder if technology is not causing more suffering in our ability to hold on to the dying for longer periods of time – in essence, not allowing them to be free.

When we die:
It’s not important what we believe when we die. It is important that we are at peace with what we believe.
If we doubt our belief, death can be a time of great suffering. And survivors are often keen on making sure the dying person believes the same as they believe – so the survivors may be at peace. But that is incredibly selfish and foolish. At time of death, it is the survivors responsibility to make sure he dying person is peace with their own beliefs – their own mind. It needs to be ALL ABOUT the dying person – not the survivor.

How do we, as survivors, smooth the way for those who are dying? How do we smooth the way to pass from this life to the next – or from one state of being to the next? Do we make it easier to slip out of this mortal coil – to free the spirit? Or, does our own suffering take precedence over the person who is dying?

Do we use technology to hold on those who are dying? If we tell doctors to do, “everything within their power” to ease the physical suffering of the individual does that just provide an illusion for the survivor that the dying person is at peace? Is medicine and technology always the best answer? Who ultimately benefits from medicine and technology – the survivor or the dying?

Death is about letting go for those who are dying and for the survivors. Here are some great thoughts on letting go and learning to let go.

One of my favorite artists. Enjoy The Divine Comedy’s LEAVING TODAY. A very poignant song considering the subject of today’s post. Listen to the lyrics as if it is a dying person saying goodbye.


and after the goodbyes have been said….TONIGHT WE FLY….the spirit of the dead survives and can be celebrated by the living in new appreciation of the life that was and the life that remains.

Bones…Flesh…Breath…Life

[fyi – this article originally posted on my prev blog 3/10/13]
craw #7

To many titles came to mind when I created the image:
“TWIN SONS OF DIFFERENT MOTHERS”
“BESIDE MYSELF”
“GEMINI CRIES”
….. etc.

What would you title this?

Music today is by post-rock band HAMMOCK. Enjoy their song and this inspired video (best in full screen), BREATHTURN

I’ve always been drawn to the old testament prophets in the Bible they were the creative masters of their time. One such prophet was Ezekiel and the following passage has always inspired me when I’m feeling close to death (physically, creatively, spiritually etc.) It is unusual in that is starts from a place of death/decay/destruction and comes to life. It seems to fit this image and the inspirational music. And this text about moving from death back to life is better than any Frankenstein story. Enjoy.

“The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he set me in the middle of a valley; it was full o bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of Man, can these bones live?” I said, “O Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you and you will come to live.'” So I spoke to the bones and as I was speaking there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together bone to bone. I looked and the tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them. Then, I said, “Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these bones, that they may live.” And breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet.
…Son of Man, people say, “Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone.” Tell the people this, “I will put my Spirit in you and you will live.” ~ Ezekiel 37:1-14

The bottom line: no matter how dead we may feel. It doesn’t matter how dead we perceive others to be, there is ALWAYS hope. There is a Universal force (whatever name you give it – God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha nature, Jesus etc) that can and will give us what we need to carry on. You can be the light. I believe in your victory!