Death is nothing at all... but what is it for you? (1 Viewer)

[Laron]

​

The topic of death could be written about and explained in a multitude of ways; this is a beautiful piece of prose, elegantly composed across the page.

I'm sure many of us here on the Roundtable could do wonders with explaining our understandings and views on death.

If you feel like doing so, here is a space for you.

What is death to you? Feel free to write a poem, some prose, or include artwork, a photo of a statue or scene from a movie—anything you feel can help explain what death is.

 

[Snowmelt]

Death is break-through. Gurdjieff was one of the greatest masters, in that he helped real people to make break-throughs. They would come to him with all their ideas of limitation, and he would cut through their old, rotten, stinking concepts that they were clinging on to, just as the sword of truth slices through lies and exposes.... what is left after lies, deceit and infantile fantasies disappear into nothingness. When you have reached the break-through it is called transcendence.

Many die, and do not transcend, leading to more life in the boonies until they wake up their innermost senses.

 

[Snowmelt]

OK, I have plenty of poems on death (written at different moments in my life path, so espousing different perspectives). Here's one:




REVISITING MORBIDITY

Life lived has turned the tide
On my earlier self who had decried
That death was heavy, odorous theft.
This time I revisit with my heart:
Life is a game. Death is an art.
Having lived, count down to nothing left.

I have wangled so much time
In which to visit the soft crime
Of death opening arms for those I love.
Through psychic means I choose
To understand that I did not lose
Those emigrants to any place above.

Time is no fixed, rigid thing
But a process ethereal, something
Makes the chocolate wheel begin,
The pin sees the fateful number fly,
Make its mark or judder by.
A dead stop and exit, or ride another spin.

As yet, I have not known the fateful hand
Of death grope my neck and make demand.
But it will come, there’s no denying.
The portals placed at front and rear
Advise when checkmate should interfere.
Breath of the living brings truth to dying.

Square deal, this circular path of life
To face alone the inner scythe.
Like mown hay on the farmer’s plot.
The sine waveform goes at warp speed,
Meaning attributed as decreed,
Death fires the arrow and calls the shot.

 

[Anna]

The ego is our death

The ego , completely dead, will not mind, whether we are in physical form or not. It might prefere the freedom from the heavier physical body.
Only the living ego mind and death is but a chance to let the ego die, an opportunity to grow as we continue to choose, if we will let our highest self drive.

The ego itself is our death, and the measure of how alive we are, is a measure of how we became our egos friend and then, let the parts of ourselves die, which wants to die.

My fear for death is a measure to my fear of letting go of things and people that no longer serves the greater good,
as the endless soul, striving to spread the light, can never die. The only part of ourselves which is always alive.

 

[Carl]

Release.