There is a feeling of sobriety that floods me when I hear of 50 year olds dying. The fear of death clings to me.
Friends will post their well meaning ‘phrases’, ‘it’s just a thought’, ‘Who dies’? Or ‘Who you really are never dies because ‘it’ was never born’!
I’m going to sit with the fear, no ‘sticking of cliche plasters’ over this fatal wound, chaining myself to this ‘place’, staring the ‘Reaper’ in the eyes I wait.
Here I Am Death, this is all…….no place to plan a future feeling……in a moment like this breathing will stop, transparent conveyer of minutes halted, Timeless, familiar Stillness. Peace.