Death, the intangible, mysterious thing
Not only the cessation of life here
A thing
The Mexicans dance
With half their face painted like a skull
On Dia de los Muertos
The Day of the Dead
Some call it Completing the Circle of Life
As in the Mayan prayer
“We come into the world, and we go out of the world
“Remember that every morning”
I used to think only of the afterlife
And so there was no death
We think of those we loved
And go on without their company
Can’t talk to them anymore
Probably around twenty-five or thirty years till
My death. I can see it, sometimes.
Till I complete the circle of life
This world is all I know
Despite Swedenborg’s visions
Or the five experiences of the Indigenous man I heard
One doesn’t want to let go of what one knows
Let go of what I know
The Indigenous man knew
Things look different if my life continues
If I sit next to my grandfather, next to a flowing river that is all love
Consequences matter more, matter infinitely more
Than if death ends it
Then the world looks different
When death is a palpable thing
The mysterious dance of the Mexicans
That will be for me in twenty-five to thirty or so years
David Fekete 