Music and resonance.

I say this very often: nothing is accidental. Or... coincidence doesn’t exist. We still can go a bit further, and say “We are a product of our experiences”. We reincarnationists know this very well, but sometimes it is astounding when you really corroborate this is absolutely true.

Music is one example. It is just one more resonance, but for me it is very strong. If some words in a song move me, or stay with me, get ingrained in my brain even when it is not one of my favourite bands... there is a reason. And if I don’t know that reason, it is not because there is no reason, but because I haven’t found it yet.

Months ago I used a Marillion song to illustrate some thoughts about sexual abuse and suicide in another blog (maybe I should translate it and bring it here too). A certain part of that song always meant a lot to me, it says:

So tell me more

about the love that you rejected

Tell me more about the trust you disrespected

I still don’t know

why did you hurt the very one

why did you hurt the very one

that you should have protected

Actually, when I used that song, I was thinking more about a friend who in a past life suffered sexual abuse in childhood, and not so much about my own life in World War II, as my own sexual abuses took place when I was already an adult. Not that there is a lot of difference, but I guess it’s much more heartbreaking when you are just a kid or a teenager and it is your own dad who abuses you. I always take it as the greatest betrayal you can face, and that’s what the song is about.

But there’s another song in the same album that also means a lot to me, and I didn’t know why. It says:

Runaway girl

Too bad, too bad

Runaway girl

A real wild child

So you cower in the town’s forgotten places

and you make your bed with unfamiliar faces

and at last you’ve got your freedom

but that’s all you’ve got

You’re trying to make your mind up

if you’re better off

You pretend to wait for washing in some laundromat

but you’re damned if you’ll give them

the satisfaction of you going back

You’d freeze to death before you’d share a room with them

and you’d starve before you let him

get his hands on you again

Innocent of me, I used to wonder: “Why is it that I keep being so attracted to this word “runaway”?” I also love another song by Bon Jovi that is called like that as well. As far as I can remember, I’ve never had to run away and hide. Yep, as far as I remember... I have the pleasure to remember more than the majority of people, so it’s fun to think how for others memory is really so, so short... that almost leaves them with a fish brain (the same I had before knowing about my past lives). And so, one day, I found out that I did run away, and I had to hide in dark places as the ones depicted in the song. I had to leave behind a life where I had it all... except the love of my husband, the one who should have protected me back then. And now I’ve realized why those words make tears well in my eyes every time I listen to that song... especially in the latest weeks or months when this past life of mine has been so present.

Only yesterday night, after a session of self-reiki, more memories of this past life came to me, but nothing new... just the same pain, the same anger, the same hatred, the same feeling of walls closing in around me, just like Eowyn felt in Edoras. When I asked myself how I was feeling, my answer was “Like a prisoner.” When I do self-reiki I always have this lump in my throat, but not as if you are holding back your tears, it is more as if you are being strangled... which I guess is logical as I’ve been hanged at least twice in my past lives (as far as I remember). But I guess that if I feel it it’s because there’s something else affecting me, and I think it’s not only for the pressure of the ropes or my neck breaking... I think it has to do more with the fact that in a few of my past lives I was unable to express all that pain and anger I had inside. I always remember Katrina and her strong desires of CRY, CRY, CRY, but looking back at my Black Widow life, I see her situation was not too different: I was just a prisoner in my husband’s house, I couldn’t talk to anyone about the hell I was living, the few that knew counseled me not to speak, so I found myself isolated, alone, scared, feeling more and more worthless as I couldn’t love that hideous man and I couldn’t even bear children for him... I never was a submissive woman, maybe that was the only problem I had, that I never accepted the way he treated me or the way society expected me to be. So, I often went to the backyard and sat in that wooden bench looking at the woods, with my heart filled with pain, wondering what to do to end all that suffering... something which wouldn’t mean my own death, of course, I was not up to give up my life for that hideous man my parents chose for me. And I made up my mind...

But this ultimately led me to a path of self-destruction I should have been able to avoid. I had to leave my own daughter and run away from ignorance and gossip in my town, my family’s reputation was ruined even when I was declared innocent, and I only wanted a new life. All secret, all dark, more hideous men and trying to make money far from my comfortable and rich house that could have been mine, if only there had been a little love inside. I don’t wholly understand why I ended up getting married again, probably I had no choice... or maybe I had some dark plans in my head, I wanted so much to raise my daughter and have her close. All went wrong. Terribly wrong.

Broken.

Lately I feel like I don’t need more regressions to remember or to get in past life mood, it feels weird because this way I don’t get new memories, only flashes of old places, old situations, maybe new thoughts I’m not sure of because I’m not “deep” enough... but above all, I get raw emotions, too raw, too tough, too... wild. I’m not feeling like this trying to meditate, only through self-reiki or whatever it is called, sometimes you feel nothing, sometimes it’s just… wow! Like now, like this evening… all unexpected, no, not unwanted, I guess, but I’m not impatient to know more, to feel more, it just… comes.

And it feels good, so good… no idea how it works but the best way to explain is like having an infected, rotten wound, swollen, with only a tiny hole to get inside. You take water with a syringe and you flush it all inside, and then the water comes out through the hole, cleansing the inside, draining all the pus and the worms and the black, stinking material… only, water is energy, white and shiny energy, and emotions are all the rest. They are intense emotions, but they don’t hurt anymore, you cry but you’re not crying of pain, you cry of relief, it’s like a soft summer rain pouring on you.

While seeing myself in these past situations, I was thinking something like this:

BROKEN. I love this word. I loved it when Bran (character of Game of thrones) said he had now a broken body. It sounds tough, it sounds true, you say it when something can’t be repaired, and there are moments in your life when you feel it, when you feel your soul is being broken, when you know there’s no turning back, no chance to regain hope, love or trust. When did you feel like this? Well, the first time he slapped me, the first time he raped me… and when you’re in prison and they tell you to confess. To confess what? I will never confess something I did, not being guilty. They don’t even know what happened, crimes are being ignored here while I’m the only one who is going to pay for it. Guilty of what? Of living a broken life? And for what? To change death for a life in prison? That sounds ironic, as that's what I was trying to escape from. Time takes me back to where it all started…

BROKEN.Like those words from the song by Marillion, long before Bran, the verse that says “Breaking someone up inside (is your only source of pride)". Words that resonate with you but you never know why… until now, because that’s what they did to you, that’s what the verse means, a harm that can’t be repaired, not through a whole lifetime, not even through a few lifetimes, you just broke and you started bleeding, and you’re still bleeding to death, because that’s how it feels… a sweet death, almost like a drug going through your veins and making you forever asleep, only death never comes, and you keep bleeding, ever since it all started.

A BROKEN RIB, A BROKEN EYE, A BROKEN LIFE, A BROKEN NECK, EVERYTHING BROKEN, just because he wasn’t ready to love. You didn’t love me? Ok, but you could have at least respected me. Love and respect, aren’t those the marriage vows, those we made on the altar, before God? Now I pray to God to save me but I know nothing will do, too late for that, maybe I should have put an end to it back then, that time in the bathtub… but no, it’s not me who must die. It wasn’t me who was going to die…

How much pain, how much hate, how much rage can you carry with you? All boiling inside, through a whole life and beyond. It seems no one noticed, but it was all there, beneath the sweet appearance of an innocent woman. I still hear the wound cracking, like a log that cracks in the fire, breaking. But it will stop. It has to stop.

Death (and beyond) (2).

The blog has been silent for a while, but not because I didn’t have things to tell… in fact, it’s been quite the opposite. Around two weeks ago a close relative died, and it was the first time in this life that I had this scary companion following me anywhere: death. Scary for some people… for a reincarnationist, or at least a great number of us, death is —feels— different. That’s pretty good in itself… the bad thing is we just have to play our parts and we can’t say anything to the people around us, sometimes because we have to respect others’ beliefs and —only in the closest relatives or friends of the dead person— their grief; other times because the situation is already quite weird and no one dares say anything that goes beyond the social boundaries… and other times because we just don’t want to get into trouble, into endless religious/spiritual discussions that ultimately lead nowhere.

But I’ve been wondering: if we don’t speak about death when someone dies, when do we speak about death? Does anyone speak about death? What’s the point attending the funeral services to hear the priest preaching about eternal life in Heaven if none of the attendants really believe in it? It is already too late to bring some comfort for the soul leaving… who is likely confused in the astral realm by now, wondering how it is that their body broke but they are still alive.

I had never seen a corpse before (a human corpse I mean)… not in this life. The feeling was not too different to see my own body for the first time in an OBE, I thought: “So, this is it, our physical body is really so… insignificant. We are… nothing.” In my OBE I didn’t stop more than two seconds, I had more interesting things to do than looking down at such a small bunch of bones and skin and blood (I have to clarify this is NOT the way it looked like then, as from the astral we perceive the “energetic” side of everything). And there, in the hospital room, though it was hard for me to take my eyes off of the dead body, I also lost interest quite easily. I was there only to give comfort to my partner and help him through the toughest parts of it all, and I certainly was surprised I remained so calm and peaceful… even knowing we might have been watched.

It was later that day when I started to feel quite weird. If waiting patiently for my partner to say goodbye and mourning for both of them felt like a quite natural and private moment, it wasn’t so when we arrived to the funeral parlour a few hours later. The makeup and the arrangements in the coffin, placed behind a crystal and a pair of curtains, with a huge crucifix behind and two lamps, one at each side of the coffin, made it all more similar to a terror movie. But besides that, I was so shocked to see how other people behaved in the other parlours… many were dressed in elegant and bright-coloured suits as if they were attending a wedding instead of a wake, they would chat in loud voices and laugh as if we didn’t have dead persons so near, just at the other side of the walls… Reflecting about this, I came to the conclusion that maybe I was expecting a dark and gloomy room, with the coffin in the centre and a lot of chairs around, with sad and crying people sitting on them, all wearing black, and whispering to each other. At least that’s how I remembered my past life mother's wake in the Old West. I was only a kid and I know I had to tiptoe to see her lying there… The atmosphere was so, so different.

My partner said he had been in other wakes and things were different only two decades ago. He said it was more serious back then, and there was more sadness, sometimes to the point it was a bit hypocritical in the case of these persons who turn up and don't care, but we seem to have gone to the opposite end. Now it seems that funeral services have become kind of an entertainment business, where you go to an impressive —and quite luxurious— building, where even a coffee costs you half a kidney, where everything is perfectly scheduled and standardized so that you don’t even have to think, and where guests are provided with everything they need. The deceased person is there, but it looks so artificial that I don’t think anyone feels death is there, close at hand… I can even imagine children betting with their cousins if they’ll be brave enough to sneak and take a look to the grandpa, just having so much fun as no one seems to take it seriously. For a brief moment I nearly believed people had no more fear of death, I think that is good. But pausing a while, I realized I'd have been so wrong assuming that, and I suspect this has more to do with the superficiality we've grown, and this notion of "Let's ignore death, make it look like something without importance, someone that has died is just one more occasion to have a drink with friends and we don't even need to worry about what comes next". What I saw were people turning their backs on death, faking they had lost all respect for it, but I knew that inside most of them were still paralyzed, horrified to think one day they will be the ones in the coffin, wishing life was eternal, wonderful, perfect, not full of suffering and disgraces such as death.

But none would say nothing. Most of them were there only because a funeral is a social gathering and you would be criticized if you don’t attend, they were doing it just for obligation… and I think these people shouldn’t be there. I don’t want to be exposed like that when I die. I don’t want people I haven’t seen in decades come and sit at my funeral, look at my corpse and go when they never cared for me. If I could choose, I would be cremated immediately after death, I want neither shows, nor useless ceremonies, nor meaningless prayers I don’t give a damn for. I want it to be a private moment, for my soul and the ones who loved me, that’s all. My experience tells me when you’re dead you just don’t care about your body and what you leave behind, unless you are still too attached to the material world… but anyway, I think we must not lose the respect for the dead. I think dying is a sacred moment, and as such it shouldn’t lose its transcendental meaning. But in this Western World we’re losing respect for everything. And I think that’s so, so sad.

Relationships from the past.

Quite a complicated subject. And my experience is short… but all I can say, at least so far, is: “It sucks”. Completely.

There are a few people in my current life I’ve recognized in some of my past lives. The problem is I lost contact with most of them, I never knew them enough to ask them about their beliefs in reincarnation, and even when they were open to it, it’s likely they wouldn’t remember, so… what’s the point in telling them they were such and such, and this is what happened between us, and this is why I felt like that and you acted so strange when I was near? I can tell them any tale I can imagine, as we’re friends they won’t say to me I’m crazy but silently they’ll wonder about my sanity… So, even if I met some of these people again and I was bold enough to tell them, I’m afraid it all would end up quite bad.

There’s someone I suspect she was my girlfriend in my most recent life. She’s still one of my best friends and we use to meet twice or thrice in a year. She even knows I’m quite deep into reincarnation now. But years ago she (I’ll call her G) almost lost another common friend (L) because this friend started to mention “weird” things about having met G’s brother in a past life. I don’t know the details, I don’t even know what the reasons were L was making such a claim, if she had some intuitions or it was something else (I don’t think so, we all liked paranormal topics, but we never knew much about reincarnation), but it was quite sad and horrible. And strange… So, I just can’t go now and tell G I suspect she was my girlfriend in a past life. We get along and there are no problems between us, so I don’t see the point.

But then there’s another case. When someone is open to reincarnation and does have memories, you may think “Hey, that’s great, we may find common lives and share some memories, that’s great for validations”. Yes, it is… when it happens. When it doesn’t happen, it’s just as frustrating (or more) as the former cases. The connection I have with this person is just amazing… even overwhelming sometimes, very close to “really paranormal”, as I sense I almost can think what she thinks or feel what she feels/felt in other lives. The problem is she doesn’t seem to be as intuitive as I am, and though we get along, with the exception of some minor arguments or misunderstandings (our relationship is exclusively online), I feel she just can’t understand why I tell her certain things sometimes, or why she reacts in certain ways other times… A long time ago I had memories of a few past lives with her, but recently I’m having more, and while for me it’s all so clear, it keeps being so hard to explain to her all this, and find the right words to help her without making her feel uncomfortable. Besides, I keep wondering why I remember: is it me who has to understand something? Is it only for me to understand how I feel for her? Is it for me to know the best way to help her? I don’t feel she trusts me enough… but that happened in the past too. Did I remember because I feel the same way I felt back then? Eventually I know I could accomplish great things with her in that life, but can I do it again in this life? Do I have even the right to do so? She’s been very important to me too, but maybe I’m not that important for her, and that’s alright, I’ve always known soulmates are bound to play different roles in each life, and relationships with them are rarely perfect. I'm aware what is past is past, and it's over and it doesn't have to be the same again, but the emotions linger... the emotions are so similar it's just unbelievable. Have we met again so that I can help her, or is it all accidental? Did I something wrong and now we have to sort out unresolved issues? I don’t feel this is the case, but if she doesn’t feel alright having me around, maybe I’m wrong…

Anyway, this is so weird sometimes. I have to smile when someone tells me: “Why don’t you want to have kids? That’s the best human experience you’re going to have…” I’ve never wanted kids, and there have been times in my life when I was really annoyed when I was told that. Then I found out why I don’t want to have kids. And I learned to calm down and just answer politely “I just don’t like them. I want to have my own life”, or something in the style. People rarely tell you the real truth behind having kids: you have more problems and less time for yourself, how fun! Of course, my reasons go much deeper than that: some died being too young, most of them I didn’t live enough to see them grow up, others I abandoned when I couldn’t raise them properly due to personal problems with justice… One who made it to adulthood, was decapitated in front of my eyes, seconds before being decapitated myself. And there’s only one I’ve met in my present life (as far as I know). So, nowadays, if someone asked me the same question, I’d say “Well, I don’t need to have kids, I already have one… from another life” (and then cross fingers I won't be sent to the Lunatic Asylum). This isn’t true, of course, I don’t “own” anyone and that’s never been my desire, but it’s funny how without being a parent I feel so many “paternal instincts” I didn’t even know I had. Now I understand my own father more than ever, and I see how hard it is to live faraway from your kids, and now I can talk about a love that never goes away, and a pride I’ve never felt for anyone before. It’s so, so weird… but that’s what remembering past lives has given me, and I’m truly grateful for that, even when coping with it is hard sometimes.

Stuck emotions.

Last night was one of my most dreadful watches since I created this blog. I’m quite used to fall into past life mood when it’s totally unexpected, but yesterday it was so much more than that… Sometimes I’ve said past life mood is like having this cloud above your head full of past life memories that haunt you and stalk you wherever you go. Yesterday they were also strangling me, trying to kill me while I was trying to sleep.

The worst of it all is that I started to feel physical symptoms of anxiety before even thinking about my WWII past life. Even with all these sudden changes in my current life, the uncertainty, the lack of hope for the future, my economic situation, the helpless feeling of being unable to control it, I thought I was doing alright. But then again, anxiety and depression are mostly silent and you don’t even realize you’re being trapped by them, while you’re trying to fight against imaginary enemies (or so they say) and stay alive. I try not to worry too much and spend the days doing things I like, so I was a bit surprised when I felt my heart racing out of control.

Then there came the strong emotions, the strong grief. “If you need to cry, just cry, cry, CRY”, I reminded myself… and I did, forgetting whether I had reasons or not to do it, and not caring where those reasons were coming from. The past life memories caught me unawares though… I know it’s May and I know that’s a tough month for me, always has been, when I didn’t know why, and when I did. But this year I had not thought too much about my WWII life. It seems my higher self doesn’t care about my thoughts… so it presented me with some scenes I must not forget, or perhaps scenes I must witness again and again so that I can heal. The truth is I don’t know anymore… But their clarity, strength and harshness hit me like a slap on the face. “You were trying to run away. You thought you could block yourself. You thought it was enough with a short glimpse of it. Well, here is the news: you just can’t do that. You can't escape from your own ghosts”.

And so I saw myself in this beach I’ve seen so many times before… wearing a thin cardigan and my nurse uniform skirt, cloudy and grey sky above me, windy day. It looks like I’m alone, and though I don’t know the exact date, I feel Johann is already dead, and I must have got up soon after I recovered of my sedation, after seeing his corpse lying on the stretcher. I had left my medal and my faith behind. I’m not so sure about “the other” traumatic situation, but I feel my boyfriend’s death was the last straw. I had seen enough of life (and death), I didn’t want to live anymore in a world where mad men were killing each other, I couldn’t bear so much pain, so much emptiness, and the fear to be abused again (or even suffer worse things). I just wanted to shout and let my anger out, I just wanted to cry out loud, instead of hiding and retch in a dark corner of the camp where no one could see me. Only… I just couldn’t. I can’t be 100% sure, but I doubt I shed a single tear for anything I had gone through until that moment… when I gave up. The moment I lost my soul to war.

Following the advice of one of my fellow travellers, I asked Katrina what she wanted of me, what she needed to be healed and overcome so much hatred, so much pain, so much unspoken suffering gnawing at her (me) through the years… The only answer I got is she just wanted to be loved, she only needed someone to care, to show some interest in her. And the only one who cared… was taken away from her. I don’t think she said it all. She has to speak louder. So much louder. It doesn’t hurt enough. I don’t feel the fury. I don’t feel her pain, her frustration, there’s not enough blood on my feet. CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY KATRINA CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY...............................

PLEASE KATRINA CRY, CRY, CRY!!!

That’s all you need to do.
     

Vertigo.

This is what I’m feeling while I’m trying to solve some past life issues that are affecting me right now. I mentioned at the beginning of this blog I was in the middle of major changes in my life, a breaking up, a separation, an uncertain destiny ahead of me. And for the first time I’ve decided to stand and face those issues and use all the knowledge I’ve gained through my past life exploration in my behalf, to deal with them in the now, and make other people understand the reasons for my behavior, my strong reactions, my personality, my dislikes… It may work or it may not, but I’m pretty sure this is what I have to do.

And it’s not easy, of course. Though my partner is quite understanding and patient, and has learned a bit about reincarnation because he had no other option with me by his side, he doesn’t remember past lives, and therefore, he can’t imagine how past life memories make you feel, how they can bring you to the brink of madness, how haunting, real and strong they are, just like any other emotion of your present life. But when you realize those memories of the past are responsible of a malfunctioning relationship, at least to a certain degree, you don’t have too many options:

1. Breaking up and forget. This is not working so let’s turn the page. No phone calls, no nothing.

2. Keep the friendship but don’t talk about getting together anymore. Pretend nothing happened. Forget about those issues… maybe until the next serious relationship.

3. Get to the root of the problem. I know where all this is coming from… but he doesn’t. They’re too intimate and hurtful memories to be shared, even with your partner. Even with people who also remember and can understand. Like I said the other day: “There are wounds that go too deep and never heal”.

Well, I’m stubborn and I say this one is going to heal. I can’t let a past life trauma to take the reins of my life and not allow me to be happy. I’ve had enough of it. And I know that if I don’t face it now, it will keep annoying me later in this life, or in my next life, whenever I try to have a romantic relationship and enjoy it all along, as much as I can.

Now, how do you tell someone who is not too much into reincarnation that you have a past life trauma and is affecting you as it had happened yesterday? Just telling it. If you can’t speak, then write. I’ve been quite kind though, and I’ve spared him some details. He already knew that I was once a black widow who poisoned her husband and got hanged for it. And I think it’s quite brave of him to keep loving me as he does. What History doesn’t tell, and no normal person can begin to imagine, is how this husband of mine mistreated me and how that made me feel. It hurt so much, it keeps hurting today. That’s why I still mourn for that past life, and that’s why I needed to put some distance and analyze where I was going.

I feel vertigo because I don’t know if he will be able to assimilate this information and work it out with me. I fear this could be too much for him, maybe he could even run away and don’t look back anymore, though I trust he won’t. Not that I’m expecting this will get us together again, I’m not sure about that point yet and there’s no need to rush things. Changes take time, and we both need to make changes and decide if it’s worth trying again. But still, I feel vertigo because this means to approach our problems in a new way I had not tried before. Remembering past lives is hard, and you don’t talk about it with anyone, you get used to the silence, the loneliness and the bitter watches. So, trying to deal with these past life issues being so open about it is like trying a new experiment for the first time. Or like launching a rocket to the space. After all this time studying, planning and executing, you want it to work perfectly. A mistake means a painful loss of effort and money. But I think that it’s the fairest thing I can do, if my past life issues are affecting other person too.

I also feel vertigo when I see how interwoven our past lives become with the present, how they can blend in our present lives… and if you’re not aware enough, you can’t even understand what’s happening, why something goes wrong when apparently there is no reason for it. I wonder how many situations in life could be solved if only people were aware of the origin of those problems. 

I have my doubts I’ll achieve what I want. But I’m going to try with all my might.

Death (and beyond).

I don’t know if it’s only me or if other reincarnationists have the same interest, but I’m always thinking about death. It’s the greatest mystery of Humanity after all… and I’ve always loved mysteries. But when you make reincarnation the centre of your life, I guess that death deserves a place of honour too. All your thoughts change once you have remembered a few of them. And if someone asked me what’s the point in remembering past lives, I’d always say that’s one of the most important reasons: to lose the fear of dying, to understand that death is just a transition, that we’ve done it thousands of times… and we’ll keep doing it again and again, no matter what we believe.

Some people just don’t want to know though. They prefer to stick to their old fears and look elsewhere, rather than face it and look at death straight in the eye. And for me it’s quite frustrating, but I’m learning after a couple of years it’s not worth the effort to try and make them understand. Mysteries are there to be resolved without any help, and even when I’m dying to shout the solution, I just can’t do it. People have to find by themselves.

Anyway, I wish there was an easier way. Recently a distant member of my family has died. I’m not the only believer in reincarnation in my family, but I’m the only one with clear and validated past life memories. Death is death. Remembering… knowing reincarnation is a fact, doesn’t change the feeling of loss and sadness that goes hand in hand with death, but I guess it gives you a different perspective and an inner strength (which others might call coldness), that helps you a lot through the process and makes you understand that death is not something to fear, is not something inherently bad, is not the dark side of life, or a failure, or a disgrace. It’s as sacred as birth, or even more, as we’re returning to our real home, where there’s no more suffering and no more toil.

However... no matter what I believe, each person is going to live death according to their thoughts, feelings and beliefs. And those are not going to change in the last minutes or the last month, while you are getting ready for it. This person didn’t have a lot of time to get ready… but the worst of it all was that his closest relatives were not ready to let him go, so even when he had stated he didn’t want to take any more medicines, seeing the prognosis of his brain tumour was bad, they all insisted he must undergo chemotherapy and radiotherapy. And while they all were clinging to his life, he slipped away one evening in the way to the hospital… or maybe in a cold hospital room, after he began to feel bad. I wonder if it would have been better just to accept the moment was near, and let him die peacefully in his bed, surrounded by all of them, with time to say goodbye, with their image in his pupils, instead of strange faces and annoying beeps from cold machines as the only company. “It’s logical, you have to do all you can to keep him alive, so that you know you did all that was possible”. That’s the answer I’ve got a few times. Possible for what? To prolong an unwanted agony? To give a dying body one week, one month more of waiting, of useless fighting in a lost battle? For me it's an answer that only reflects our own desire to keep someone close to us, when they already have decided to part. An attempt to keep our conscience clean, forgetting it’s the other person’s wish what matters now. Did someone ask him what he wanted to do? Did they pay any heed to what he said? I’m afraid most of the times we just don’t listen. It’s understandable: the fear, the grief, the sudden separation, the confusion, the regrets for words left unsaid… they all are too much to bear. But it’s something we have to learn to do: to see death with different eyes, and recover the humanity we had in other times, when our gods were of a different kind and our beliefs in the afterlife (true or not) helped us act in a more caring way, with a greater awareness of the meaning of death… and the meaning of life.

I can’t say I’ll know how to do it right when it’s my turn… to die, or to witness death of people really close to me. But I have in my mind the memories of a number of deaths I don’t want to forget. The non-traumatic ones were all in my own bed, easy and peaceful (or at least that’s how I remember them), sometimes alone, sometimes with my most beloved partner… and I’m sure that’s what I want for this life. I don’t want to die in a hospital, forgotten or ignored behind some grey curtains, or plugged to a devilish machine that keeps my body alive while my soul just wants to be free and go on with new lives. It’s not fair. It’s not human. It’s… plain madness.