Is it normal? Allow me to restate, in a different vernacular:
I put my fingers to his neck to find his pulse. It was there, if fading. The certain knowledge that this person was expiring right in front of me washed over my senses, hightened reality. I was dying myself, experiencing through this man endless possibilities, not only after death, but in life. What did he experience, what wealth of knowledge did he impart to family, friends?
His heart, now fading to nothing, was beating it's last. Soon to be nothing but flesh, I stood and watched as death walked him into whatever realm awaits all men, if any. At that moment, that split-second when he finally breathed his last, when his heart stopped beating against my very fingers, I rejoiced. Myown heart answered his with a monstrous beating, excelerating to the point of bursting. He had died, but I was alive. More alive than ID ever been. This man, who I knew nothing about, a life lived apart from my own, communicated to me in his last breath how fleeting life is. How important that living can and should be. I was awakened from my slumber, introduced to the reality or mortality, the prospect that one day, I might be like him, and give a final gift to another. The gift of life, given only once.
Is it normal that death does not matter to me?
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Is it normal? Allow me to restate, in a different vernacular:
I put my fingers to his neck to find his pulse. It was there, if fading. The certain knowledge that this person was expiring right in front of me washed over my senses, hightened reality. I was dying myself, experiencing through this man endless possibilities, not only after death, but in life. What did he experience, what wealth of knowledge did he impart to family, friends?
His heart, now fading to nothing, was beating it's last. Soon to be nothing but flesh, I stood and watched as death walked him into whatever realm awaits all men, if any. At that moment, that split-second when he finally breathed his last, when his heart stopped beating against my very fingers, I rejoiced. Myown heart answered his with a monstrous beating, excelerating to the point of bursting. He had died, but I was alive. More alive than ID ever been. This man, who I knew nothing about, a life lived apart from my own, communicated to me in his last breath how fleeting life is. How important that living can and should be. I was awakened from my slumber, introduced to the reality or mortality, the prospect that one day, I might be like him, and give a final gift to another. The gift of life, given only once.