Death By Water

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of the gulls and the deep sea swell
And the profit and the loss
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

Lines from a poem, I studied in English Lit class back in college. The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot.

People have called me morbid. I’v been termed as downright psycho. Crazy. Dark. Pessimistic. Somebody even suggested that as a child, my mother must have dropped me on my head a few times, to make such thoughts come in my brain.

All in reaction to the fact that, unlike most people who have a very difficult time reconciling with the thought of their own mortality, I take my fascination of death a little further beyond the ordinary. You see, I actually have fantasized about how I would like to leave this planet. And to spice things up a bit, not only have I occasionally fantasized about it, I know exactly how it would be.

The ocean. Vast. Limitless. Wise. Ancient. Powerful. Silent. Deafening. Serene. Much like its wisdom, even the adjectives to describe the ocean are infinite. And if I ever have a say in how I make the transition from this world into the, well, who knows where, I can see myself on a on a sandy strip of island, totally deserted, walking off into a stormy ocean. No living beings for miles. I continue walking until I’m standing almost waist high in the water, struggling to stay up, as strong waves try their best to fall me over. The sky is covered with rain clouds, the kind that paints the whole canvas of the horizon into shades of gray. Light. Dark. A splash of light there, and then deep gray once again. Rain is pouring down on me, and the sharp, stinging needles of cold rain drops have me drenched to the bone. As I pause to take in the expanse of the ocean before me, I see a wave swell up far ahead of me. Slowly, it rises above the rest of the ocean and as it moves towards the shore, towards me, it continues rising, till the crest of the wave is almost 10 feet above the ocean. Maybe more, but never less. And as it comes closer, it grows in size, till it seems to touch the clouds. I know this is it. The moment I have been waiting about, the moment I have seen in my dreams for so long. I start walking towards it; it looms right ahead of me, a vertical wall of water, the most gentle, yet the most ruthless element know to man. Water that purifies. Water that cleanses. The only element with the supreme power to give life, and the power to end it as well. And the last feeling that enters my being, as the powerful tidal wave engulfs me, is a sense of calm. A oneness with myself. Never possible in life. Only during that brief moment of transition, from this world to the next, can one experience that wonderful sense of oneness. Being one with Nature. With the Universe. And in that briefest of moments, with God. Being God.

Knowing that it’s only after you’ve lost everything, that you truly free to do anything.

But, that’s all a long way off. If ever. I can’t say that if I was given an opportunity to die my own death tomorrow, I would grab with open arms. Work have to be done, things have to be said, a life has to be led. It’ll be awhile before I’m ready. Or maybe never. As most will be well aware, youth’s romantic fantasies involving love, life and death are always susceptible to fall victim to the materialistic harshness of a more mature reality.

For now, the heart is young. Fear is secondary. And the ocean is as always, alluring. But death must wait, for later. Life still has a lot of reasons to live.