SLL’s theory is that the degree of acceptance of one’s own death is directly related to the quality of one’s life. From Ray Jason at theseagypsyphilosopher.blogspot.com:
There are some topics that are never discussed in “polite company.” Fortunately and deliberately, I have surrounded myself with “impolite company.”
My friends and I will wonder about the Grassy Knoll. We will question the free-fall speed of the Twin Towers. We will ponder the implications of the Dancing Israelis. In fact, on a really bold day, we might even dare to discuss the JQ.
But even in my eccentric circle, we do not talk about The Big D – DEATH. This intrigues me since I perceive it as just an organic part of The Big L – LIFE.
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In these reflections, I will be dealing with “natural death.” This would be someone who has lived past 70 years or so, and then experienced declining health until their body can no longer sustain itself.
“Tragic death” is an entirely different category. We witness this in Gaza on a daily basis. When an IDF storm-trooper walks through a hospital casually shooting doctors and patients, those victims did not suffer a natural death.
As for the cowardly soldier who butchered them, we can only hope that an Afterlife and a just God awaits him. A suitable Fate for him might be an eternal cycle of re-incarnation every day, followed by an afternoon visit to the Celestial Wood-Chipper – feet first.
It is part of the cycle, from the dust and back to it.
Had to scoop opossum off the road last night with trash bag so it wouldn’t be ran over 100 times or put scavengers in danger, made a Sign of the Cross and placed it by the creek.
Short haired exotic Kiki is buried out back, it did love the municipal tap water a little too much.
The controversial Guns N’ Roses song I Used To Love Her is about a beloved animal.
I used to really fear it myself until God sent the most amazing sign that brings tears to my eyes every time reminiscing about it.
Let’s just say that every knee is going to bend and the beyond really is Shangri-La.
Don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.
Bill Hicks
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain’s to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
John Keats
1814