My first poem.
9/27/2018
9:30pm
Today is my birthday.
My mother loves this day.
She is so proud of me.
I wonder how much pain she endured in my birth
and how quickly it was eclipsed with love?
I came into this world head first
like most of us.
This was 37 years ago and yet
I still mark the calendar
and go through motions of celebration.
Today my friend died.
Not years ago, but actually today.
He laid down next to my best friend
and took his last breath of our atmosphere.
I wonder if he felt any pain
or if it was eclipsed by utter joy and reintegration?
I know my friend feels sadness, loneliness and left behind.
Do we experience any of this when we leave our body behind?
At what point do we inhabit our bodies?
It is in the womb,
conception,
birth?
At what point do we exit,
with our last exhale?
The one thing we who have been birthed
can all expect is our eventual death.
It is the one given in life.
Yet it is also something
that brings fear.
I am not scared.
Why should I be scared of liberation?
Of finding out what is behind the curtain?
Should we celebrate our death yearly as our birthday.
Does it make more sense to tune into the unknown
and become acquainted with it?
Maybe we celebrate birthdays as the realization
that we are that much closer to our own mortality
just not quite there.
Being remixed into source
that is something to be joyous about.
Being extinguished like the flame on birthday candles.
