We might as well admit it. We all have a fascination with death. Most of us are afraid of it. Some of us are terrified. But, like an intrusive television advertisement, the subject keeps coming up. It wont go away. Permanently, anyway. We suddenly become aware that many of the significant people who were once part of our life are no longer with us. And this even applies to the not so significant. Our favourite film and pop stars- gone. The sporting heroes we admired so much in our teens – gone. They died. Dying is what happens to someone else. “No point in worrying,” we say. “I’m okay.” Yet deep down, we know our turn will come. No one gets out of this life alive – no one!
“Or do they?” And just as importantly, “Do I?”
Artists, particularly writers and poets, write of little but Death; Death and Love. Yes, these two are their forte’. It is their bread and butter. Love – usually meaning sex (especially if the artist is under fifty or so) and death when escape from the pressures of living can no longer be readily found in the former. Yes, we feel we just have to know more about Death. This is why our book shops are filled with volumes on Mysticism, Meditation, the Meaning of Life. This is why the best-sellers today are publications about the Spirit, the Soul, and the Real Self. You see, what we really want is an assurance about survival.
Many people purport to know a lot about the subject of Death – yet really know nothing. You’ll find quite a lot of them up in pulpits on a Sunday. I’m not saying they don’t have faith. But there is a helluva difference between faith and knowing. And people want to know. Knowing is certainty.
Do you want to know more? Then let me know, eh? And I will continue with a little more of this book.