No.13: Oh, my gosh, I’m dead
There was fire in front of me and I could see debris and it was silent. And I thought, ‘Oh, my gosh, I’m dead.’
– passenger after a crash landing
And here are some links.
After the earthquake, a fire; and after the fire, a still small voice.
And visions grow like fire, like all catastrophes.
Everything comes out of the hit, the first and only gift. All those rainbow hues and vast vistas spread out before us, the great journey through them, knowledge and fear, codes and decodes, forms and deforms; and the still, silent point, undeniable, ungraspable, pulling us in, love and sacrifice.
But isn’t every death part of someone’s drama? Good question – but one that humans have never really been able to answer. We live and the world opens up before us; we go and it closes up again, effortlessly. So where does that leave us? We don’t know.