Death and Dogs

The grim reaper is a kind dog.

I sit on my chair, the wind caressing me like a gentle lover, yet with the quiet, great force of a thousand suns (and their thousand moons): with the intensity of a knowing stare. The strength subdues me, I drink on velvet valentine's tables, begging and pleading and nervous. Here is the cusp of a proposal, the shaking before the execution, tired murmurings from tired, new parents and divorcees reminiscing; the weight of my life hits me, melts gently like being seen.

The shock is a prelude, sobbing is before wailing, sobbing is before silence, and love is before death. And love is death, everlasting. And on my porch it is this moment. The silence of sound. I feel the grim reaper near me, and feel he's awfully kind, and just like me.

I think I'm ready.

I've whined like a sober dog, waiting for the scraps of love under the table, taking everything I can get. I've begged for forgiveness, careful that the weight of being evil never undermines of the weight of hurting others. I've gone through phases of the moon for night's sake and lost my hope of mornings... and I am still that dog. The scraps of sustenance is just a hope to keep going for that chance that on that cold night, your chest is open and warm and I fall asleep softly. No pillow is as soft as the breast of man. But here I get no man, and no more scraps. It is the most fulfilling, empty meal. The cold made me get that deep rest, it's what makes death so powerful. It is deep, forgiving. I get it anyway. that is my final mercy. The marrow travels so far within that it disappears. A life is always lived deeply.

I am divorced from and put together, cold and warm. Today the cup runneth over, so starkly empty that it's full, and I'm not used to the feeling. The yearning for love is just another form of love. Valentine's is cheap, and alcohol has to be spiritual. I wonder if ayahausca would've been a club drug in another life. In all instances, hatred is just a love for something else.

The chair creaks, naturally. The sun shines gently and so it destroys absolutely. I believe the Taoists were onto something when they said that the persistently gentle always yields and has the most power. Power not for the sake of power brings us to the most tender tears and feelings, and perhaps that's what it is about, to be human. Is that true power? Humanity: We create it, we will it, we search for it in everything. God, the sun looks so beautiful; I remember the many nights. Waiter! Waiter! I have waited too long for my food, and now I must go. If it hit my watery eyes just right there would be rainbows ending on these old, soft planks. They burst through the back of my eyes and rainbows explode in my skull.

I reshift my position, plunge into the rememberance of the nights, and I nurse the pain and cradle my head. The rainbow is so merciful and doubly beautiful, almost like a lover. Quietly persistent and overly gentle, that is my hand, and that is how I act; as slowly, I am being destroyed absolutely. Slowly lowered, the sun bids the softest goodbye, and it's goodnight. What a morning to behold, a funny contradiction that we live.

My eyes close and I plunge a little deeper. The half state of death and being alive. It's liminal in nature. And I go back, to go forward. The loose ends must be tied before you haul it on your back and keep walking. And walk, I shall.

I don't get no man, I get a dog.

A tail wags. I see a smile, happy to see me. He here to lead me through the rememberance of the most bitterest night. Perhaps it is God (or perhaps it is me), merciful and trying to settle my dues and my unfinished business in a show of love and mercy, the most deepest necessity. As I let go, I let go. I cannot help but smile in the midst of tears as it settles more deeply than I thought it ever could. 'It's unbelievable," I smile with teeth bared (a dog myself) and wipe a tear, and I think like reverent, human whisper, " he is so happy to see me.". Arms outstretched, I welcome him. I am happy to see him too. Goodbyes are always so bittersweet, and to leave this place of sorrow... It makes me spin. Sometimes you're sentimental for what kills you, sometimes what affects you badly affects you deeply, but now I must go. I hope the afterlife is just as happy, and says "You had a long trip, let me take your coat". I hope it's like a family gathering with God, a campfire with friends, and that this dark life stretches out in a sky, cocooning and having meaning, and above the softest marshmallows and warmest fires, I see stars.

I stop in my tracks, the dog whines a knowing whine, awfully pitiful for me (I think I'll name him Gerald. How awfully fast we get attatched). I see her getting out the car after that long argument and jumping off that bridge. I am still powerless to stop her. It feels like punishment, but I know that it is rest, and I wonder if I'll see her again; but the dog just looks sad. Nuzzling my hand he urges me to move on gently, and I lead myself to the edge of that bridge. I look down. It doesn't hurt any less. I take it in, I process it. I had been so afraid to look, back then, and it made me live the rest of my life like a coward. It was proof, and I too had my last, settled. I died that night and perhaps today I come alive; I look down, the dog still looks sad. I wonder if he knows what I'm thinking or knows me so well that every last twitch broadcasts a letter, makes a sentence on my mind... I don't get resolution but knowledge, and I walk across the path continuing. With every step I process what it meant to me, how it fit into my whole life, and how it all fits now it's the end. I end up, after a while, at what I think should be the rememberance of the most sweetest night.

I don't know. It's cloudy. I don't remember.

The dog stops.

I had been resurrected for a single night, 12 years later. I'd taken a walk alone at night to the top of a hill in a new city and had taken a seat on a bench, when I realized it was made out to be a memorial for a dog. He had the same name as the one I had in my childhood and I remembered my mother, with her warm, lost smile. I broke down, remembering soft fur and her knowing touch, in a time where things were so simple. I thought I'd gotten over everything but in that instant I keeled over.

That was twenty years ago. I watched sadly, the dog inching closer. I thought it would be nice to give him a hug, but I couldn't. A voice bellows out, gentle, peaking from behind wet, gray clouds with overwhelming knowing. Power not for the sake of power, and doubly gentle and destroying; disarming.

"Would you have changed it?"

"I would."

All of a sudden, I'm on a bench next to a man made out of stars.

"Would you have changed this?"

"I would."

My breath shakes and I gaze down ashamed with understanding, and my own deep knowing, its subsequent want: how we live a life. A tear rolls down, and I bring out my own reverent whisper, not to man of the galaxies, but to my own life and what it meant. What it could have meant. What it could mean.
"But you can't."

I laugh, "It would have been nice if I could've said 'I do'"

He smiles a sad smile, yet his contented joy and knowing always reaches his eyes and wets them. It is hard won, only known by knowing. And that is by pain.

He gives his own whisper, the bellowing was only to reach me. The softest blade penetrates through my chest, reaches to my heart before he asks me what I want to do. Do I want him to push through?

He whispers, "You were always so stubborn."

He shifts, saying simply. "It's not too late."

"Of course it is."

"Only because you want it so. This is my mercy, for you to decide. That's the only way you reach your own knowing: choice. But I hate to see you look so sad. Sometimes it feels like my love is violence."

"It isn't."

"I know."

A soft hum.

He continues, sadly. "You don't really have a choice. There are people out there and they can act too. I can't wave my hand and bring you back. That's not how it works."

"I know."

Devastating.

"But right now you're in an alleyway and a kind stranger is about to walk past by. Maybe he'll call an ambulance. I don't know. But the question is if you'll fight. That if he resurrects you, you choose not to fall deeper into despair, and throw your life away. That you'll learn. That is your choice. Will you learn?"

I fall silent.

He continues. "That is your mercy. For you to decide"

He takes my coat, revealing my own stars within me.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry!"

He holds me.

The trees shake their chests, wager on the path of a leaf, that I will settle softly.

"If he doesn't pick you up, if there isn't any time left, you'll continue with me. You'll reach the next life, and I'm sorry this couldn't end well."

I sniffle. "Is there anything you can do?"

"You were always so stubborn."

He continues. "No, but I can help you reach a conclusion through another dream, quite like this one. Would you like that?"

"No, I want something real."

"Of course."

I start to remember. I had sat on that chair crying a few hours ago on the anniversary of her death, on top of that hill. I wanted to fling myself over when I reached into my pocket and felt the ring I was going to give her, and threw it over.

I reached into my other pocket and felt a needle and another small bag, and thought I'd take the coward's, coward way out. I couldn't bear to taint her memory. I'd go out the way I should.

I didn't deserve to be with her even in spirit.

He knows I remember.
He sighs. "You do know that it doesn't take a single decision, right? This moment will fade. That the road is long and tough and awfully boring... It's in the little everyday decisions that feel so insignificant that are, so significant."

He smiles softly. "Every day, you choose to live."

I imagined that I was an old man in my drug fueled haze, to make sense of the fact that I was taking it away so early.

He starts up. "Well, it's time for me to go now. He's about to round the corner, I hope you remember those stars, instead of those scars."

I break down, choke a sob. "Of course."

For a moment I let go of trying to see my lover in everything. The star-man is with me through everything. Though he must go. He is a lover of his own.

I am with me through everything, though I must go.

I am a lover of my own.

The grim reaper looks awfully a lot like me, and I sigh. I say goodnight to say good morning.

The dog bays, signifying release. The sweetest night is not upon me yet.

And I hear the beginnings of a heartbeat.