A Conversation with Death

A short story.

Image by Mickey Shannon

Life has many gifts. It is a gift to walk in an able body, along flower-strewn oceanside cliffs. It is a gift to witness our life-giving hydrogenous star descend over the ocean while trekking over the mighty earth, amplified in its awe-striking beauty by the setting sun. It is a gift to have space and time to be with oneself and one’s thoughts, with nature’s music whispering in one’s ears. This evening, with wisps of clouds dancing in the colors of the sky and my feet moving gently in the colors of the flowers, however, I’m not thinking about life’s gifts. I’m thinking about life’s terrors and cruelties. I’m thinking about all the gifts life gives then takes away.

I walked along the cliff with a comfortable margin of ground between me and the edge, listening to the sound of the waves crashing below. I didn’t see anyone else around, and for a while it felt like I might be the only person in the world. As I walked, the elevation increased, and soon enough I was standing at the highest point I could stand. I looked at the ocean, its mightiness needing no attention or comment but radiating in its glory nonetheless. I looked at the pinks and oranges in the distant horizon, swirling together like a messy watercolor. I absorbed every detail of the scene before me, but as gratitude for this moment swelled in my heart, so did the grief of knowing so many who’d never again bear witness to sights such as this.

I walked closer to the edge. I didn’t like being in high places. Looking down made my legs wobbly, and I had a fear of losing my balance and toppling over. What a sad headstone that would be. But something in me wanted to see over the edge. Something in me wanted to look down from that high place at the violence of the ocean below. With every step forward I crouched lower, and by the time I got as close as I could I was on my hands and knees. Waves crashed onto the rocks below, and a salty breeze blew strands of hair around my face. How strange it was to be mere inches from never again seeing the sun. I suppose we all are, more often than we think, without even realizing how delicate and fragile every moment is.

I retreated slightly and found a comfortable sitting position, swinging my legs over the edge so they dangled over the ocean far below. It was thrilling and terrible. Tiny fragments of dust and pebbles tumbled down as I kicked my feet back and forth, feeling the freedom of the expanse before me.

Is there freedom in death? I wondered. My thoughts strayed, as they often do, to all the people who’ve left or died, and I wondered if they were free. Surely, if we must die, then we can never truly be free. For if we are all subject to the same inevitable fate, then are we not also trapped to it?

My head got heavy. It was tiring sometimes. To think. Thinking opens up doors in the mind that may never close again. Thinking brings us to the edge of anything and everything we know, and beckons us to plunge into what we don’t. I looked over the cliff, and thought about what it would be to have no thoughts at all.

Then, a sudden change in the wind and shadows drew my attention to the left. To my horrified surprise, I saw a cloaked figure perched on a rocky ledge several feet below the edge of the cliff. It loomed large and its cloak was a deep gray. Under its hood there was only darkness. I knew, with a knowingness that cannot be explained, exactly what stood before me.

Hello, said a voice in my head. It was deep and ethereal, as if coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

My mouth should’ve been dry. My hands should’ve clenched and my back should’ve stiffened, but they did not. I felt only a peaceful curiosity, perhaps with a touch of reality-questioning insanity.

“Hello,” I said aloud. I wasn’t sure how to properly start a conversation with Death, but that seemed a silly thing to care about given the circumstance. “I know who you are,” I said. “It’s not my time to go yet, is it?” My voice was calm, but my heart skipped a beat.

That’s not up to me, It said. I’m only here to catch you if you fall.

I looked again at the ocean below, the ground suddenly feeling less solid than it did a moment before. I had no desire to fall, but I also had no desire to stand. I wondered how long Death would keep me company as I sat on the edge between the finite and the infinite.

“I don’t think I’m ready to die.”

No?

“No,” I said, surprised by the sliver of hesitation behind the word.

You don’t seem ready to live.

I said nothing.

There is no reason to fear me, It said. I am only a step in the journey.

“A step into what?” I asked.

Into Nothing.

“That’s hard to imagine.”

Impossible, actually.

I pursed my lips, digesting the words. They twirled around my head, making me a bit dizzy to try and catch.

“Why is that?”

Why?

“Well surely there must be a reason.”

There is always reason, It said.

“Even in death?”

Even in death.

Anger suddenly stirred in my chest. My skin went hot and my fists clenched, but it wasn’t like I was about to stand up and fight Death Itself. Though, in the moment I might’ve been able to. It passed quickly, dissipating into something much closer to sadness. My hands relaxed and I started to cry.

“Some death doesn’t seem to have a reason,” I said.

That was not my choice, alluding to the cause of my grief.

“Not your choice?”

I do not choose who dies. I am merely there when they do.

“Who decides who lives and dies then?”

That is not the right question, It said. People live, and people die. For many reasons, but always a reason.

“What was the reason for her death?” I asked. A stream of tears poured from my eyes now, and I was unable to stop it. I stifled a sob in the back of my throat. “Huh?” I asked louder. “Why did she have to die?”

Death was, of course, unfazed by my emotional upheaval.

Everything must die. Unfortunately, human selfishness and disregard for others often ushers me onto the stage many acts too soon.

I shook my head.

“No!”

I felt like a child, totally defiant against that which I did not accept. Throwing a tantrum of rejection, and knowing it. Feeling comfortable in my opposition. I thought back to the day I got word of the crash. To the night I drove to the hospital and saw her near-lifeless body plugged into various machinery, breathing and beating her heart for her. I thought of all the tears, the screams, the desperate wishing for the ability to turn back time. Mere seconds would’ve made a difference.

This time I couldn’t stifle the sob, and a scream lurched from my chest as I covered my face with my hands. I cried as hard as I needed to cry, and didn’t stop until my breathing slowed on its own. I wondered about people who never let themselves cry, and felt terribly sorry for the pain they must always be carrying. I took a deep breath and looked again at the sky. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but by the looks of the sun it seemed like none. Everything still moved, but time stood still. So did Death, still perched on the ledge. I wondered if there was anything to touch beneath that cloak.

How do you know “up”? It said, breaking the long silence.

“What?” I asked.

How do you know what up is?

“Up,” I said. “Like, up?” I pointed to the sky, and wondered how I’d come to have a conversation about directional orientation with Death.

“What does this have to do with anything?” There was an edge of desperation in my voice.

Just think about it, the voice responded. For a moment.

I sighed, frustrated but compliant. I looked at the sky, then looked at the ground. Then up at the sky again. We couldn’t possibly know what up is, let alone have an “up” to perceive or experience if we didn’t also have a down for reference, no? No, there could be no up without down. What would up be without down? It was an impossible question.

“Well,” I said slowly. “I suppose because there is down.”

Though there was no true way of knowing, I sensed Death smile.

Could you say the same of left and right?

“Yes.”

What about black and white? Or day and night? Could you know either one without also knowing the other?

I sat on this for a moment, then decided no, you couldn’t possibly know either one without also knowing the other.

Do you suppose you would grieve as hard as you do if you did not also love as hard as you do?

I shook my head. Tears came into my eyes again but they wouldn’t fall. My mind braced itself against the edge of some abstract doorway; an understanding I didn’t want to see.

Where there is no grief, there is also no love. The same is true for all things. You cannot know the sky above your head without also knowing the ground beneath your feet. You cannot know the brightness of day without also knowing the darkness of night. But seeing that there is this and there is that is not the same as understanding that there is this because of that.

“There is this because of that?” I repeated. “There is this, because of that…”

It is not my choice to exist. I simply do. I do not come around because I want to…

Then there was silence. I waited for more words, but when I looked, Death no longer stood on the ledge. Actually, I didn’t know what was there now, because all I could see was a bright white light hovering where Death once stood. Looking at it directly was like looking at the sun. I kept my vision ahead of me, but even in my peripherals the light was daunting in its presence.

I come around because I have to.

The voice was lighter now. Warmer than it was before. It reverberated in the atoms of my being and hung on every molecule in the air; everywhere and nowhere all at once. Death was not Death alone. Death was also Life.

Without me, this side and the other, none would ever be. It is through the Whole that you experience life and death, everything and nothing. One cannot exist without the other. Rejecting this most basic law of the universe is the cause of your suffering.

I let the words sit on my brain without trying to grab them, and then I laughed. A big belly laugh that flew into the winds above the sea.

Death! That mysterious beast that finds us all in the end and takes away the gifts of life is also the very force that provides them. Death! That bastard that destroys everything we know and love is also the very force that gives us things to know and love in the first place. We cannot have one without the other. To separate the two is to live a life of madness! A life of denial. A life that doesn’t really live, but dies a slow death behind the facade of its own ignorance. There was no freedom in death; there was only freedom in surrendering to it. There was no freedom in life; there was only freedom in surrendering to it.

Suddenly I was no longer a child throwing a tantrum. I was walking through that doorway in my mind, into the understanding I didn’t want to accept. I realized accepting it meant accepting the fate of so many I’d loved and lost, which I couldn’t bear to do before. But now I could see that by withholding this acceptance of death, I also withheld my acceptance of life.

Which I had right before me, begging me to live it.

I swiftly pulled my feet beneath me and stood, stepping away from the edge until I was comfortable with my distance to it. The light of Life still hung in the air before me, and though I could not see It directly I knew It could see me, and I smiled. I grinned as wide as my cheeks would let me grin, laughing into the air above the cliff, and I thought what a beautiful madness it was to exist.

To live is to die. Nothing lasts forever. It is when one learns to see the sacred impermanence of every moment that one begins to understand the divine nature of existence itself.

With that, the light faded away until there was only the darkening sky of dusk. I expressed my silent gratitude and walked away from the cliff, back the way I came but different than I was before. Sadness still lingered on my heart, but now it felt like a familiar friend instead of an unwanted stranger. As I walked, I thought of life’s gifts. The good, the bad, the terrible and the beautiful. To count life’s gifts would be an exercise in futility. They are infinite. The gift of good could not be had without the gift of bad. That they are both a gift is the understanding that liberates us from suffering, and gives us every reason to meet life in fearless surrender.

I was not ready to die right then, but I was no longer sacred to. I was ready to live.

And I was no longer scared to.