Natures prunes all organic life after a while, while at the same time making sure that new fresh organic life will replace what was pruned.
For us, humans – to be pruned means one thing, and one thing only: death. But if we will not be pruned, from the point of view of Mother Nature we would poison other organic life by our accumulated illness and impurities. This is no consolation for us, for death is death, and we don’t know how to die with acceptance, with peace, but there is no way to die in peace, this is a fairytale story, death is totally unacceptable by any standard. We can of course do what everyone does, which is to ignore it, to repress, as though it would not never happen, to live in a lie. we should revolt, reject death, any death, our personal death especially, for what is the point of anything if nothing would be left of us one day, not far from now. And indeed death is unacceptable, from any point of view. This is the rebel stance, And then one day to be kidnaped violently or in long or short suffering, always in the middle of one’s life.
Can you prepare towards death? Never ever, not possible, any other answer is a straight lie.
So what is left is to die fighting, to die as a Samurai warrior, to die a rebel.
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2 reports about Beethoven’s death:
- At this startling, awful peal of thunder, the dying man suddenly raised his head from Hüttenbrenner’s arm, stretched out his own right arm majestically—like a general giving orders to an army. This was but for an instant; the arm sunk back; he fell back; Beethoven was dead.
Thayer’s summary of Beethoven’s death[1]
2. Beethoven biographer Alexander Wheelock Thayer, in his notebook, recorded Hüttenbrenner’s account of Beethoven’s death.[1] Hüttenbrenner’s eyewitness report is sometimes recast to imply that Beethoven “shook his fist at the heavens” in the moment before death. Since any imputations as to the dying man’s emotional state are impossible to verify, they tend to be glossed over or ignored as irrelevant by modern Beethoven scholars.
*
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas – 1914-1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions. Copyright © 1952, 1953 Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1937, 1945, 1955, 1962, 1966, 1967 the Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1938, 1939, 1943, 1946, 1971 New Directions Publishing Corp. Used with permission.
Gabriel