Tea Time Ruminations
Death. I have recently been watching ‘Ask a Mortician’—go watch her videos—, and I have been thinking about death. What happens after we die physically, spiritually, mentally, et cetera? I, yet, cannot come up with anything remotely intellectual. I, nevertheless, find myself groping in the dark grasping at unseen banisters as I descend down the steps into a lower world of thinking. It feels more primal. It feels more intuitive versus intellectual. I, sure, could argue based on books written throughout the ages—religious, and areligious alike—, but I come close to an answer whenever I accept the darkness.
So, I called meiner Mutter, and my sister to discuss their death plans—brother, and father; you are next—. In response, I discuss mine. I whole heartedly want to be on an open pyre. I presume this is illegal in the U.S.A. as our right-winged Christian forefathers were against anything that may have made a person unique. I, also, understand that cremation was only recently allowed though it screamed of Paganism; therefore, I presume that a full open pyre is out.
I, nonetheless, think about the beauty of it. The refined primal need to burn a body is a beautiful ritual. Whether one attaches religious symbolism to the body or not, a body in flame is a shockingly stark image. If one does not believe me, image-search self-immolation. I cannot deny that going out in such a beautiful image is attractive to one as visually-dependant as I. That last fact stirs up questions in me.
Are my desires for a funeral borne out of a need to take care of human corpses filled with nutrients and minerals returning to the Earth, or is it a ‘vain’ need to have a beautiful pristine last memory of J.A. Victor Wilson? I honestly know not. As complex as the human mind is, it is probably a mixture of the two.
Spiritually I believe in an afterlife. I believe in an amorphous judgement system, not as a checks-and-balances sheet of rights, and wrongs; but, more of evil people will focus on evil things, good on good, mediocre on mediocre; therefore, one’s afterlife is flavoured heavily on one’s self-image. I believe also in the presence of Gods—shout out to Freyja, and the Elder Kin—, but I know that is heavily leaning on the banister.
Mentally, I understand the spark of life leaves us rapidly relatively speaking. After a certain time, the electricity will be gone, absorbed presumably—by this non-scientist—into the ground; therefore, I hold no special significance to my body after death. Others though? I could barely be in the same room with my Grandfather’s corpse for more than 20 seconds. It was a simple blood-bag. It was not the man. I, nonetheless, felt that it was as if some part of me, and some part of him had changed. So, where does the love go that said blood-bag instilled in me?
So, I am back at the beginning: questions. I am going to chinwag with my family about their death plans, and desires as well as dictating mine. I cannot, however, ignore the intriguing darkness that surrounds my thought processes, my emotional states, my mental capacities, and my spiritual being when Death is mentioned.
I need more tea.