“Everyone dies alone.”

(Photo by Michelle, my lovely love...)

When I first heard one of the many variations of "Everyone dies alone" I thought, of course I die alone. I now see that particular truth differently- Everything I leave behind is that which is not and never was mine, of me, but not me, that which, after death, I'm unable to retreat from.

I’ll do myself a great disservice if I carry my body away from life and leave only my hands to suffer and writhe in a pact of willful separation. With self left suffocating, buried beneath other’s thoughts, other’s slaughter, other’s guilt, other’s sins, other's beliefs, all packed beneath my own personal greed, the void that has no love, and without hands, is unable to dig out from under the rubble, unable to remain loving, remain important, unless I recognize and believe in the whole of Love.

Full life has no use for Love’s spirit that's tossed in the ground never to dance again.

(Thank you, Love. Thank you, Breath. Thank you, Water. Thank you, Creation. Thank you, Creator. Thank you, Peace. Thank you, God. Thank you, Allah. Thank you, Christ. Thank you, Buddha. Thank you, Brahman. Thank you, Elohim. Thank you, Life. Thank you, eartH. Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Father. Thank you, Grandmother. Thank you Grandfather. Thank you, Great Grandmother. Thank you, Great Grandfather.)

When I allowed my self to become that which was not and never was and never will be mine to allow or imagine, my rushing and loveless eyes became etched into a non-reflective glass, no more looking toward my home, eyes that were drained and dead and in dire need of my attention. The press of hate, war and abuse, murder and greed had left me blinded, incapable of moving in my new-found belief, unable, therefore, to move in my thoughts, ideas, and with humankind's inherent goodness, my full love, my self, who I am- a man humbled by all he meets, with a voice that’s surrounded by each and every goodness he's ever imagined, felt or embraced on his walk, upon the path that is his and his alone, the arduous journey to self and the self-realization of the whole.

Don’t I, at some point in my life, seek my own way? I have and I cannot be used by hypocrisy any longer, not with the gift asking for nothing from me in return but that I honor the eartH, Love, eternal life.

Even if it’s near the end, I should seek my self alone... for I, speaking as a self of flesh and blood, will die alone. Until I stop believing that the book is closed along with my eyes in the end, I have yet to recognize my own eternity.

© 2011 by mark prime