The road ahead
Last night I wrote two e-mails to the same two friends. The first was at 9:06 p.m.:
Since late afternoon, after returning from the treatment, I’ve been extremely weak, weaker than I’ve ever been in my life. I can’t do anything. In my whole life, I have never felt that I was at all close to death. But now I feel that I’m at least somewhat close to death. Let’s hope this passes. But the way I feel now is that the body does not have enough energy to keep living. I feel the body is shutting down.The second e-mail was at 3:47 a.m.
Lying in bed, I just recited Yeats’s “Easter 1916,” the whole thing, in a low voice, but with energy and strong interpretation. So I guess I’m not near death yet. A pretty appropriate choice for a poem, since I seem to have my own “terrible beauty” being born.
Dean Ericson writes:
If you have the peaceful, happy opening-up kind of death you’ll be glad to go. And if you have discomfort, misery, and torture then you’ll be doubly glad to go. But I don’t think you’re ready to go yet. You’re still having fun. And you haven’t heard all the Mozart string duos, trios, quartets, and quintets yet.Terry Morris writes:
Your words make me feel as though I’ve never really contemplated my own mortality in an honest way; they make me feel as though I’m reading the thoughts of a prisoner of war, both during a session of torture, and afterward when relative comfort returns. Does this make any sense?
Posted by Lawrence Auster at February 21, 2013 08:37 AM | Send