The silence that accompanies death is so heavy and depressing and damp. I can feel myself getting pulled into an opaque liquid. It’s slowly pulling me down; a force tightly holding both of my feet and pulling me down with all its strength. It’s heavy dampness drenching every part of my body, foot upwards. First my knees, then my thighs, next my hips. Slowly it consumes me. I extend my hands into the lightness of air. I know I have to stay calm. I know I cant, shouldn’t fight it. The more I fight, the quicker will be the consummation. Now its upto my chest. My breath begins to shorten. I take quick short breaths. Its level rising slowly. But somehow it seems to be moving to fast. Maybe it’s the desire in me to see more of life that makes the slow sink towards death seem faster. Its upto my neck now, my chin; I take one last gulp of that precious air and shut my eyes tight. Im under it now. I hold on to that last gulp of breath. It gets harder by the second. My lungs begin to burn and demand a fresh refill. My ears are blocked. In the end I have no other option but to breathe in the dampness. I open my eyes to look death in the face.
That gulp of air that I’d expected to be damp is surprisingly sweet and fresh. My lungs take another large swig of it; a mad rush into every alveoli, like a new born taking that miraculous first breath in the open air. It’s not all that bad in this dampness. The darkness I’d expected down here is actually sparking because the sun filters through and makes pretty patterns.
Therefore I say, let go and take in the dampness. Plunge into the womb of dampness and be born again.
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