Conversations with a dying man — The day I knew I was going to die (I).
These are the accounts of my conversations with a dying man. Literally dying as these lines bleed out of me, the man in question happens to be me. And I am literally dying as I write these lines. Breath by breath, life flows out of me, every heartbeat brings me closer to the inevitable end. As my body withers and decays, my inner worlds prevail, birthing these thoughts for anyone vain enough willing to witness.
I am dying. And now I know.
Big surprise, eh? Fun and frolics are not going to last forever, who would have thought. Still, facing the music seemed far away in regards of dying.
At least for me, it felt that way. My life was in full bloom when it hit me. I had more or less skillfully created a main identity for myself which I was busy maintaining, busy believing in, paying into my very personal narrative.
The playing field of my life was all so nicely leveled with it´s ups and downs, defeats and victories, almost too good to be true. And you know what they say about things that seem to be too good to be true? You do, indeed, you do.
There was no malicious intent on my side to fully be a part of this game I considered to be my life. I thought this was it. Doing things, pushing forward, getting things done. Fighting side quests here and there. Reshaping the world on the go. Defining new frontiers. Wowsies. Wandering through a paradise of the senses and sensations, what else could there possibly be?
Life before death and dying
Back to life before death and dying. What is life? What was life before the pivotal moment where I knew that I am going to die? Let´s get some definitions going, not to be too fuzzy within my last breaths.
Life, as I experienced it, was between a kakophony and a symphony, melted into a musical my mind fabricated. I actually believed the things I experienced to be true. As funny as it sounds in retrospect, I even believed in me, who I was, that I was after all, that main identity with all it´s drama and narrative, circle jerking myself around myself for myself.
Like an actor who plays King Lear and forgets to drop his masquerade after the play, who stays in character instead. Who stays in fucking character all the fuck long. I believed to be King Lear and forgot that I am just acting. I was living, absorbed in the world and sorrows of King Lear. While I just could have dropped the masquerade, remember who I am and go on about my life. But I didn´t. (BTW — this King Lear comparison is a steal from and loosely similar to Rupert Spira´s more complex and coherent excursion on King Lear/John Smith)
I had grown fond of living the life of King Lear. I found, fought and conquered myself the most glorious queen to stand by my side. I build my own kingdom, formed a company from inspiration to money making, from relative rags to relative riches. From being an absolute nobody to being a somewhat somebody. Somebody in this world to be reckoned with. Someone. After all. Throughout my life I became someone. I really did. Problem was — it wasn´t me who I became, it was fucking King Lear who became me.
And one bittersweet evening, it hit me. Gently it hit, like a coldish summer breeze touching sweaty skin under a clear summernight´s sky.
Gently, but with the underlying force of a thousand suns exploding. No loud crackling and screaming. Truth shyly presented itself, clearly and unmistakably though.
It´s over, duh. Terminally over.
Your M.D. whispering in your ear that there is nothing more to be done.
Your mother looking at you one last time before closing her eyes forever.
The love of your live walking away from you and you know it´s the last time you have seen these beloved eyes, hold these tender hands and kissed these sweet lips.
Everything you are will go down in flames.
This is the beginning of the end.
This is the start of me losing everything dear to me.
The start of me losing my love, my life, myself.
Somewhere, deep down in me, it dawned on me — far from clear as I can state it now, barely an echo in the distance, but it was there:
I had to loose my mind, to come to my senses. What this meant, I could not fathom for a very long time, can not fathom by now to its full extent, only the stark sense of this realization being inevitably true and an innermost but long forgotten part of who I am, who I always was got through to me, like a pinging beacon at a pitch black ocean, the faintest signal, barely noticeable, still permanently there.
It´s hard to swallow seeing things clearly for the first time. Something I have not been familiar with my entire life. Feels a bit like being a clairvoyant, without wanting it. Bewildering, to say the least.
What have I been familiar with, if not seeing things clearly? I specialised in rationalizing, conceptualizing and running in circles. Simply put. Ever inventing new reasons and opportunities to do so. Facading problems and solutions at the same time. Re-enacting my parents lives in hope of salvation. Denying responsibility for my future and blaming the people I love.
Burdening the people I love with the responsibility to make me happy. Giving it all away just not to be hurt by risking to live. To live my life. Rather not live and not get hurt while blaming my loved ones and failing so hard by not trying. Topping this of with expecting to be treated as someone special because I so nobly forsake to live my own life, for transferring responsibility to said beloved ones burdening them with living life for me. Sounds messed up reading these lines to be honest.
And the Day Came When the Risk to Remain Tight In a Bud Was More Painful Than the Risk It Took to Blossom. — Anais Nin
I proposed them with a challenge where they were doomed to fail from the start. There never was an option to bear my burden.
Life doesn´t work like that. As much as you might want to, you will never be able to take the pains of giving birth away from a mother, you will never orgasm for someone else, you will never live for someone else. Catch the drift? There are some things which need to be done personally.
Like dying.
On a sidenote — in wordly terms I was living a life that a third person observer, watching the actions I took, the events happening in my life, etc. could describe as mildly adventurous, self-determined. Even successful in the sense of a blooming, longtime relationship and a prospering career in an exciting field of work would be correct to say. A productive member of society. By the sheer looks of it, things were going well. From the perspective of the attendants of King Lears play, it was all fun and games. A grand show.
The people on the ranks got a good run to watch I´d say. Unless they had to deal with me upclose und personally. Until the bubble burst, until inevitable and universal truth came knocking.
And knocking it came.
