dying

as those of you who know me can attest, i have some death issues.

in a nutshell, i have a hard time letting go.

preemptively.

before people are even anywhere close to being dead, i mourn their inevitable demise.

it's true. with actual tears, sometimes.

people and things in the full vibrancy of life pierce my heart with sadness because of the truth that they, in all their multifaceted, quirky, unique and aching beauty, are not eternal. this crushes me. that anything can be taken away at any moment (and i know for a fact that it can be) leaves me at such a loss, so vulnerable and fearful feeling -- i think to myself that it can't actually be like that, that i must be missing some crucial part of the scenario, because if i'm not, it's a terrible design, and is just too difficult for me. i love things too much. am too attached. i'd make a terrible buddha.

so, what is this hoarding? where does it come from? i think it might be a strange form of greed. i think i've always gathered too much to myself. i'm a pack rat when it comes to everything from pretty baubles and books to memories and emotions. i gather, collect and keep. i just can't let go. i have transit stubs from my last trip to toronto. receiving bank statements and junk mail stress me out because i feel funny tossing them, but don't want to keep them. it actually mildly stresses me out. i can't throw things away. (why can't i throw things away??) and why can't i enjoy pleasures in a relaxed, unpanicked fashion?

quick -- eat all the shortbreads -- you never know when you'll come across them again.

what terrible lack have i experienced, or imagined, that has left me grasping like this?

must have: olives by the jar (can't eat just one), five scarves (all pretty, couldn't decide in the store. need them. mine.), boarding passes and receipts from journeys abroad (mustn't forget anything. keep all memories. all.), hundreds of books (can't just borrow them, need to OWN them. mine.), weird found objects (pretty! sparkly! might come in handy! gather, gather, keep, keep.), terrible photos i'll never look at again (mustn't forget any experiences, no matter how unphotogenic. and what if i need them for a collage?), and it goes on and on.

but hoarding life exactly-as-it-is-at-any-given-moment is like grasping at water. all this clinging has left me frustrated and insecure. it doesn't work very well.

that i do this is so embarrassing, but there you have it.

i grab with my teeth, both hands and ten toes to keep life from getting away from me, but it just keeps moving along, oblivious. like a father with a three year old wrapped around his leg, life can move very easily to the next room with only my small weight trying to stop it.

sometimes i think that if everything would just stop for two seconds -- just stop -- so that we could all truly realise, as a group, the impermanence of everything, we would begin to cherish it properly, and i could relax. other times i think, if only i knew for sure that there was an afterlife, then there would be no last good-byes, just see-you-laters, and i could relax (yay! i wouldn't have to let go!). and still other times i think, if i could just stop dithering and dive into life with unfettered gusto, i could come to death tired and worn and happily needing the rest, then i could relax.

don't get me wrong: i know my fretting isn't helpful. i know i'm probably missing the point. i'm just stuck.

a few weeks ago i heard an original song performed around a campfire. it was about death, and in it, the singer sings that now that she's finally going back to where she came from, the stars look so beautiful, her lover's eyes look so beautiful.

and i cried (of course.) and realised that since that time fourteen years ago when a terrible accident left a two person hole in my family, i've been dying. the accident shocked me into seeing that i'm dying. and the stars look so beautiful that i want to keep them all forever. and the little brown mouse, the scabby pothead glass painter, and these mittens, all of it. i don't want to let go and i don't want to leave. why do i have to leave?

how do i stop dying while i'm alive? it's getting in the way.

* * *

i think i'm going to go throw some stuff out now and see if it helps.