The Death of Saddam

Perhaps he deserved to die
But do we have leave to take life

To the follower of a Biblical God
Is to be Thou Shall not Kill
Or the vengeful Eye for an Eye

Iraq’s infant democracy
Not a model of honour and trust
Its first steps tainted by a criminal act

Yes, perhaps he deserved to die
But Evil vs. Evil
Will itself lament Judgment-Day’s trial

Is it not public an execution
Broadcast on video display
Enlightment wallows in the darkest age

To rejoice in macabre events
Is evidence of humanity’s utter descent
Not by love in hatred we thrive

Death by firing squad a last wish not granted
Compassion witheld is everyone’s gallows
Perhaps he deserved it
but our sins will also be counted

©2006-M. Della-Marina

CARD XIII. DEATH.

From P.D. Ouspensky:
The Symbolism of the Tarot



Fatigued by the flashing of the Wheel of Life, I sank to earth and shut my eyes. But it seemed to me that the Wheel kept turning before me and that the four creatures continued sitting in the clouds and reading their books.

Suddenly, on opening my eyes, I saw a gigantic rider on a white horse, dressed in black armour, with a black helmet and black plume. A skeleton's face looked out from under the helmet. One bony hand held a large, black, slowly-waving banner, and the other held a black bridle ornamented with skulls and bones.

And, wherever the white horse passed, night and death followed; flowers withered, leaves drooped, the earth covered itself with a white shroud; grave­yards appeared; towers, castles and cities were destroyed.

Kings in the full splendour of their fame and their power; beautiful women loved and loving; high priests invested by power from God; innocent children - when they saw the white horse all fell on their knees before him, stretched out their hands in terror and despair, and fell down to rise no more.

Afar, behind two towers, the sun sank.
A deadly cold enveloped me. The heavy hoofs of the horse seemed to step on my breast, and I felt the world sink into an abyss.

But all at once something familiar, but faintly seen and heard, seemed to come from the measured step of the horse. A moment more and I heard in his steps the movement of the Wheel of Life!

An illumination entered me, and, looking at the receding rider and the descending sun, I understood that the Path of Life consists of the steps of the horse of Death.

The sun sinks at one point and rises at another. Each moment of its motion is a descent at one point and an ascent at another. I understood that it rises while sinking and sinks while rising, and that life, in coming to birth, dies, and in dying, comes to birth
.
"Yes," said the voice. The sun does not think of its going down and coming up. What does it know of earth, of the going and coming observed by men? It goes its own way, over its own orbit, round an unknown Centre. Life, death, rising and falling - do you not know that all these things are thoughts and dreams and fears of the Fool"?

To the Hereafter and Back

O Death, in the glory of each day’s sun-rise I yearn re-live that fifth-dimension encounter with you. After a fall from my frisky horse put me into a seven-day coma, I found myself out of my body floating as light as air, brushing the roof of a strange room. I looked down to see my own body lying still upon a hospital bed. -- Look at that -- I said to myself, -- why are doctors and nurses fretting anxiously beside that insignificant carcass of my body? Why, are they creating so much fuss over a body that has no more meaning for me than an old discarded dress?

Was it you O Death, that wonderful sensation of freedom? Of lightness of being? I had no fear. Everything appeared normal, natural. I heard what the doctors and nurses were saying, but I also perceived their thoughts, I saw the room I was floating in, while simultaneously I saw the hospital gardens. Not only did I smell rose bushes and pine trees, I became the scent.

O Death, was it with you I dashed through a crystal tunnel as if propelled by a reckless wind? Was it you, the glorious light I penetrated? The love I embraced? Was it you the sensation of being at the source of life? Then as light, you penetrated me, and I melted into you, we dissolved into each other, into love, into indescribable happiness.

O Death, how long did you hold me in your arms? Why did you let me go? Did you not know the enormous pain, the anguish caused me by the sudden knowledge I could not remain in your eternal embrace? You never explained why I had to return to terrestrial life. Was I not deserving to be there with you???

I was alone walking on a mountain trail, snow was falling. In the blinding whiteness I became aware of a dreadful headache. Who was the old man I met sitting on the edge of the snow-covered cliff? I told him of my headache, he smiled suggesting I rub my pain with freshly fallen snow. I shut my eyes and did as I was told. The pain suddenly was gone.

When I reopened my eyes, I could not see the old man, the mountain or the snow, I was awake in a hospital room, glad my father was there to greet me. I had come back from a voyage to the beyond, but was I happy to be back? O Death where light and darkness merge, we’ll meet again, I know…

Retelling of the extra-terrestial experience of Grazia Cini, signora from Firenze, Italy

Speak to us of Death

from THE PROPHET: Kahlil Gibran

Almitra spoke, saying, We would ask now of Death,
And He said:

You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Death on my Journey

Death on my Journey

I speak of Death as if talking about a friend, yes, a devoted friend who walks beside me, sometimes behind me or up ahead, leading the way, yeah. You think I am weird. Ok, I spend a lot of time alone, yet I am not lonely because Death keeps me company.

Don’t take me wrong, if I address Death as She. Sometimes she’s female, sometimes he’s male, and often has no gender at all. Death is whole soul. Methinks I’ll speak to it. To enquire if it’s true he only exists as a light divine…

I will ask him for a dance: “Yeah, dance with me. Right here, right now, on these white-tiled floors surrounded by white painted walls… Lie beside me at nightfall when black satin sheets harbour dreams of soaring eagles, teach my spirit to ride zephyrs over mountains covered by eternal snow fields …”

Death is not my Enemy

We die even at Christmas time, Death takes no holyday, knows no borders, has no nationality, no gender. It has no God with whom it can make distinctions based on religion. No one is omitted in the face of favoritism.

Death takes its due among kings or paupers, rich or poor, priest or layman, child or old man, nor saints or sinners are exempt.

Yeah, Death constantly collects without exception, dispassionately. Not only human beings, but birds, fish, ants, spiders, lions or toads, shrubs, flowers, even in the forest takes its toll. Ice melts, seas dry up, mountains become sand. All equal. All must die.

Perhaps it matters when, how or where. We know WHERE is everywhere: in a hospital, on the battlefield, in the home, in a car or crashing airplane, in a fire, hurricane or earthquake.

For the most part, in keeping with traditional attitudes human beings regard Death as Enemy, therefore WHEN and HOW must be denied and remain in mystery.

I don’t believe in man-made Gods, I don’t believe what priests and politicians say. Though I believe life can be prolonged for some or something, I know from Death I shall not escape. Nor would I want to.

Death is not my enemy; Death is the mother in whose womb I will be transported to new dimensions. Death is the renewal, the liberator, the constant friend, the companion who will not abandon me when this aging mortal flesh no longer can sustain my youthful, spirited eternal self.

Nothing is my Name

I wake up with an apprehensive feeling after a night’s sleep haunted by uneasy dreaming. Always swimming against the tide, puffing against the wind, I should be stepping among the Christmas-shopping crowd, proud of my short-shorn hair when fashion calls for long… Shamelessly filling time solving crosswords puzzles when I should be focusing on some personal blogging nonsense …

Yes I procrastinate, I would leave behind the insecurities generated by the demands of western-style society: balance my bank account, fill out my income tax returns, wear the latest fashion clothes, drive a newer car, revere, regard and copy those who stand on papier-mache pedestals higher than my own.

Ok, go… go… I want to be… be… something Not made of flesh, something without ego… without intelligence… I want to be the real me, the nothing insignificant me, one grain of sand in the desert of the universe… without birthdate, without name, status, sex, religion…