Many story books, novels, films and other transcripts and manuscripts try to empower Death. Death is, for many, not a long lost friend, but an enemy of Birth. Poetry has Death as its perilous theme that it sounds undulating the whole cycles down. I do not want to swag on the famous writings, even the acrobatic film that siphons your exhales of what Death is sorting out.
I am pretty sad that Death has never even listened by us, humans. In fact, animals and trees do listen as they know how they struggle for the next cycle. I am putting this into a genre, not prescribed by religions, but a wistful sermon of the day, a reflection that others would say. Though I had the knowledge of Death based on the perspectives of religions, I do not have the power to question God and other-worldly supernatural powers above and under the Earth.
Some fictional books that I have read discuss Death into words, explaining it until the readers are asphyxiated and started to agree with the authors. They, perhaps some, find it agreeable, or figure it out as a reflection of what comes in this cycle of life. We still have life after Death surmounted, believe me. Well, I have never been called by Death before, but I had ever been solidly gestured by Death a long time ago when I was a young boy, aged less than 6, who wandered the deals of life as a new Sun-Rises-Goes-Down-Moon-is-up fathomable experience. I say it in the past tense as I do not want to report it ever – Death might come to see me again in its journey and then it would say “Meet me halfway, please.” I am alive now, still breathing; I thank Death for letting me see myself in the worldly mirror.
The gestures were as gentle as any gentleness, but I did not let it win and Death said “Losing is my Victory.” Birth is always winning and for Birth, Winning is its Victory. Birth has always gone for Phoenix, a transformation that we all might see in the medical miracles in the beds of hospitals, a word that has been officially put into the corpus of human language which is Rebirth. Death has never had one, except “Die again” which it will be mentally deficit for others to utter it even it is for a comedy show.
Nah, we all know, when we read books, films, poetry and others discussing Death by their authors in their mysterious ways, that Death hungers for something that everybody dies for – Love. Love, for others and for some, is simple to do, but it will not be encouraged by Birth. Birth has been the most hateful moment by humans, because it has the list of perseverance, roles, and kin responsibilities. Love has always been encouraged by Rebirth. Rebirth is where we see second chance puts you back into your motivation, that we would have the thoughtful actualizations. It brings Love to us after Death spoke its lines while whistling in its journey.
Why do we need Rebirth? Why do we need second chance? Why must Death pat our backs before we realize we had so many grueling moments of playing around like a reversed child-like shape?
Love in the sense of rebirth could entwine anyone’s definition to this life journey. Maybe we need the second chance in our working life, to be accepted as a progressive worker to guild up the nations. However, along the way, the substance to love is not fully supervised when we are still in our first chance. We just murdered ourselves for it – we never realize that we do that every day in our single second. Murder is already Death’s belongings, and that’s why it hungers for Love, from Rebirth.
Birth is the inter-medium to both Death and Rebirth that speaks the actions that we all must do. Love should not have come from Rebirth; it should have come from Birth because it is a sanatorium of actions that speak and do. Still, we are on our first chance, speak and do Love.
Death has been the most aggravating offence in our waking life. It tells the nature of a mortal soul goes into immortality. It does not mean we must murder any mortals to welcome Love and the Rebirth of ourselves. It means we respect Death as a congratulatory old friend that takes us as we are fated to be. Wars, famine, natural disasters and others are not encouraging Death to come by and say “Hello, how’s your life today?” but, we push Death to come by and say “Hello, how are you?”
I had pushed Death because I welcomed Rebirth. Death gestured me in its modesty. I ignored Birth and put it into a solitary. I was a young boy that time that did it, and I regretted it so much in my later life. I have changed. I have changed since then, and now, people would always question my angular face which has bore the skins of 27+ and above, and my biological age. It was not just Death that shoved me without grease, but other things that Birth has asked to. I am not selling myself on this but there is a lark that chirps an attune song that I, perhaps others too, have seen.
I hope one day I would show my modesty to Death, vowing to it as a congratulatory old friend who had come and ever visited me long time ago. I am still on my first chance. I would love to speak and do Love in my Birth years, and greet goodbye to Rebirth, just and only Rebirth, as I have already welcomed it.
Mark is my Rebirth’s name. Wilibrord is my Death’s name. My Birth’s name is confidentially said but it is called when that name is powerful enough to prevail Mark and Wilibrord in his life, and this has no means of provocative dishonesty.
Mark,
3 a.m to 6.00 a.m.
Monday 25th July 2011
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