It’s hard to meditate on the tenderness of death while the body’s secret mind keeps blood surging. It’s a bit like the white froth on some distant wave – soft, majestic, impersonal. But it will roll near, and when it does, I wonder if I’ll hear a giant wave whispering my name? Will it feel tender, still?
Monday, June 25, 2012
On Death
It’s hard to meditate on the tenderness of death while the body’s secret mind keeps blood surging. It’s a bit like the white froth on some distant wave – soft, majestic, impersonal. But it will roll near, and when it does, I wonder if I’ll hear a giant wave whispering my name? Will it feel tender, still?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Via Email
1 comment:
This touched me deeply, probably because today I feel somewhat close to those waves - maybe the cliffs' beautifully transgressed, thanks
Post a Comment