Death Becomes Us

Death comes in many sizes: S, M, L, XL and XXL. Rarely XXXL. Then, there’s one that envelopes us all: XXXXXL. Never ever printed, but it exists. The final.

To live a full life we have to die many times, before, we eventually die. Small sizes, large sizes, whatever is the need of the hour, we have to go through them all.

Death is an end.

It is also a start, but essentially, it is an end. Of all the things that have to end. Enough, enough now.

I look forward to an impending death, as much as I am afraid of dying. But this fear is unfounded; since we were born we have died many times. We have been reborn. Some births are conscious; some not. Yet we are not ever completely dead. Parts of us are dying.

There will (soon) come a day, when I will decide who dies. I will die soon; I will be reborn.

My life is inherently beautiful. Thank you to all of you who have decorated it and made it a masterpiece worth of wonder. There is a reason why I will not give up on my life easily. That reason is you.

At the same time it seems prudent that I ask for forgiveness for those who I have inadvertently hurt. Inadvertently is key. Because I would never knowingly hurt. Somehow my genetic composition disallows it.

As I near a certain death, let all the bad spark out and burn fiercely in the pyre, let all good be laid neatly aside for me to pick up when I rise. And may this pyre be a continuous affair, and may I walk out better each time I burn, till one day I burn for a final time. And, then, let them say:

These are the ashes of the one who strived and eventually died after many a death. But lived a complete life with each dying; each living.

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