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WHITE ROSES ON WINDOWS AND DOORS
Published at www.halfproject.com October, 2002
I talk to her sometimes. I tell her about my day, what's eating me and why, and why I don't want to go away with her just yet. And she understands. Always.
She gave a white rose the first time we met. And when I laid my eyes on her, I knew, without the usual introductions, who she is. What she is, for that matter. She looks just as I always imagined her to be, clad in a long white dress, her long black hair falling behind her, creating this incredibly dramatic contrast. She has an almost serene smile, a hearty laugh, and the grace of an angel.
She has always fascinated me. She tells me about how some people run scared upon feeling her presence while others beg her to take them with her. Often, she laughs at the ironies in this world as she tells me how she has seen paradigms shift over time, yet life's little paradoxes remain the same all throughout. Oh yes, she's been around for a while. I've glimpsed, though, through her eyes, a deep sadness which she often tries to conceal. I asked her about it, but she merely responded by quoting Sappho to me: Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.
Since the beginning of time, people have been scared of dying. And why not, when no one really knows what awaits them at the other side. As humans, we fear things we are not familiar with. This includes death. Let's face it, no one has ever come up with a precise definition for death. One thing's for sure - it makes its presence felt and known to all. As quoted from Colette's Cheri, "A door slamming makes one jump, but it doesn't make one afraid. What one fears is the serpent that crawls underneath it." It's the same with death - soft, simple, subtle.
There are those who see it as an end. These are the same people who see it as an escape; a phenomenon with this certain finality connected to it.
To some people, death is seen in a different light. Death could be deemed as an artist, with dying as an art. It need not be feared, for after all, she promises immortality. It is not an end, but a new beginning in a new place. To some, this may seem absurd, but to most of the living, it is, in a way, a window of hope. Death does not render a finale; it merely closes the door to our mortality, and opens another one - the door to our immortality.
Someday, I want Death to open that door for me. Someday, but not now. After all, when the time comes, death has a thousand doors to let out life. And when the time does come, I shall find one. But when you're alive and you are blessed and life is good to you and you love life, Death just simply takes a backseat to your passion. She doesn't mind. As I've said before, she understands. And she waits patiently, constantly reminding me of her presence. For even throughout life, it is death that makes life live, gives it whatever the significance.
© Valerie V. Mayuga, 2005
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copyright valerie v. mayuga 2005 |