Frozen in time
Hello. This short post is about Death & Birds.
I don’t know what my earliest memory is, chronologically, but I have little sketches of memories from around the age of three. I remember being at the bottom of a staircase and looking up at my mother, who was sitting on the top stair with her head in her hands. Knowing now that this was only a few months before her Death gives a strange intensity to that moment, frozen in time. I wish I’d known how to comfort her.
I remember finding crystals, pink and purple treasures, underneath her pillow in the hospice. They were rose quartz and amethyst, healing stones—though not army enough against the cancer that ravaged her. I remember a Robin sat on the wall of the patio outside of her hospice room, and I remember showing a flower I’d picked to a very kind, very elderly man who sat in a wheelchair outside. I remember being held by a woman with red hair, while watching Magpies perched on gravestones in the churchyard as my mother was buried. I wonder if the Magpies that do the same thing today are decedents of the Magpies from then.
I read a profile, this week, on a man whose intention is “Not to die”. He is extraordinarily wealthy and seemingly very committed so, who knows, perhaps he’ll manage it. I found myself feeling desperately sorry for him, though. He looked terrified. Then again, I suppose you’d have to be to spend $2 million a year and your every waking moment fighting against something so ordinary. His immortalist efforts see him wake up at 4.30am, finish eating by 11am, and spend most of his day in a fasting state under LED lights before going to bed, alone, without exception, at 8.30pm.
What a strange way to spend eternity.
Yours in aimless flight,