Thinking aloud

i.

Here's the problem: how to convert sameness

into wonder without making it harder

to give myself permission to let go?

The morning light on the dark blue irises,

a walnut tree filled with a blackbird's song

make me unwilling to embrace death.

Maybe I should turn myself around 

and make every moment 

an epiphany, even moments 

of excruciating pain

or sinks full of dirty dishes,

not just morning light and the walnut tree.

But death as an epiphany

is a contradiction in terms:

we move from light, love, hope, energy

into nothing, nowhere with no 'I'  

to recognise anything 

or recognise that there isn't anything.

Let's pray for the tiniest glimmer

of chiara oscura to mark the transition.

ii.

An eternity without beauty, 

no wonder we call it death.

It has been said: “Life without music 

would be a mistake”; I'll change that:

Death without beauty would be a mistake.

If I have lived other lives,

I have no memories;

cannot so much as recall 

a sunrise or a baby laughing. 

Where has all that beauty gone?

After our very last life

are we presented with

a tessellation of memories,

no character list, no context?

And have we become so refined,

we're not even interested?

Not for me, thank you; I'd rather remain

unregenerate, human, flawed, 

open to beauty wherever it comes:

a friend's smile, light on the walnut tree.