she was in my aesthetics class. i never talked to her and yet i am still experiencing shock of an unusual nature. it comes in waves, as i replay the moment our teacher informed us at the start of class. the same emotions i felt then reappear faithfully. denial. discomfort. confusion. what is death, really? for some reason i'm not so sure. and those phrases - those weightless sticky phrases that people toss as though they might have the ability to rescue the bereaved. but they don't. they are like inconsiderate shots of novacaine that pinch at first but soon begin to numb you over, until you couldn't feel anything even if fifty shots were going in you all at once. what is this thing we call death and why do we still not know how to handle it? do we ever get used to it? do we ever stop being so formal about it?
i'm trying to see past this familiar territory, which somehow doesn't seem to heal at all, and find . . . substantiality. but it's stubbornly foggy . . . and i can't grasp it.
i found this beautiful poem today that i believe fits perfectly. . .
requiescat
by alfred lord tennyson
Fair is her cottage in its place,
Where yon broad water sweetly, slowly glides.
It sees itself from thatch to base
Dream in the sliding tides.
And fairer she, but ah, how soon to die!
Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease.
Her peaceful being slowly passes by
To some more perfect peace.
2 comments:
That's SO sad.... annnnd sometime this week for sure!!! You going to ashley smith's recital on friday? we could always go after that... I have to go. I only have 1 recital credit lol
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