Wintersun
In my early childhood, I wanted to find out how to die. I lay down on the floor of my room. If I did not move, and started to breathe more and more shallow, and if my mind were able to leave my body, I would die. After a long time and many days of trying to die, I knew every detail of the ceiling. Dying was not easy.
One day, I heard my mother say, "He's such a good kid. He plays all day in his room." But I just wanted to avoid her. I was a trophy to show around when guests were there and to put back on the shelf to collect dust when nobody was looking.
I had my first friends when I turned twelve or thirteen. They were Death Metal fans, Gothics, Anarchists, and addicts. Before I turned twenty, I needed two hands to count my friends who had died from overdoses, suicides, or plain accidents. When I grew older, the cause of death mainly changed to diseases.
When Death's little brother Pain approached my own little family, I became caretaker of a survivor. For years, decades. Death was not unknown to me, but Pain was different. Death visits you only briefly, but Pain never leaves.
I never chased Death, but it followed me everywhere, even into Zen practice. One of the first things I heard my teacher say was: "In Japan, we do Shinto when something good happens. And when people die or suffer, we do Zen."
Recently, a friend called and asked me why I rewrote the "Okkult" poems. "Did your old darkness return?" he asked.
As a young man, I asked for relief. What others called life was just a burden to me. Nobody seemed to speak my language, and my words were wasted on most of the people I met. I wanted to dissolve in silence, to float away. That was what death meant to me.
Then, he became my shadow, my follower. Wherever I looked, he breathed behind me. First, I was afraid. Soon, I welcomed him like a good friend. We all must die. He ended a cycle, and he knew I would understand him. We started to talk.
I thought we were equals. But now I feel he is creeping up on me. He is no longer my brother, my friend. He became my reaper.
My bones ache with every move. The joints do not carry me as before. My muscles burn to remind me of the fires of Hel. Moving the stairs up and down became a battle with myself. Working in the garden is hard. The pain in my body doesn't leave anymore. The little brother already dwells in me. He whispers with his needle tongue.
I will vanish one day. I know that. I am not afraid. But there is work left.
Distraction waits. It became my enemy. I beat it back whenever it crawls out of the corner. Nobody can choose for me. I must decide before winter comes.
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