The Good Deaths

When the dying one is encircled by loved ones,
The sting of death is blunted.
He is entangled with life
Even as it vanishes,
Engulfed by itself,
Like candlelight swallowed up by the Sun;
He slips into silence,
Surrounded by good will,
Merging love with love.
He is gone, but his heart has already been distributed,
Long before the scattering of ashes.

Death shouldn't feel like death:
It should be tranquil—
No struggle,
No fear,
No promise,
No god,
No need.

But more noble still
Is to die alone
On some obscure mountain,
Or in a hopeless, sterile room,
Yet to still die well,
Borne up by the absent arms
Of those whom one has never known,
And never will;
To die alone but not lonely,
Smiling gently,
Not from faith,
Or resolve,
But actual contentment;
To die with clearheaded insight,
Yet with imagination —
That’s the way to go!
See us all,
Gathered around you.

Nobody dies completely
When there is someone there to say goodbye,
Even if only in his mind’s eye.
The candle is out,
But every color,
Every shape,
Every movement,
Remains,
Ready to flicker
For another flame.