Silent death, holy death

At the sixth chime, when the night has stretched her protective arm over the world known, characters of various forms and situations prepare for a temporary sleep. And then, hopefully, they in turn dream of life’s occurrences and of nighttime horrors; for such dreams allow a person to fully appreciate the tangible and material parts of existence. I speak, primarily, of reality. However, I wish to address another form of sleep, a permanent state of being that has been addressed and symbolized in various beloved mediums. This permanence is none other than the inevitable death. What I found most fascinating though, is the various ways death is represented and addressed: the devil, the servant, the witness, and the ever presence.

Many fear what they do not understand, and with this comes a manifestation of said fear. A very famous work of literature personified the adventure into Hell itself; it was called Dante’s Inferno by Dante Alighieri. The poem continues to describe purgatory and paradise, however, it is Inferno that presents the king of Hell. With each level we find a different person being punished for a specific crime having to do with their personality. A very cruel irony presents itself as the punishments are often inversions or perversions of the very things they cared for. The devil himself, at least in Inferno, does not play a very large role in the story line. For instance, when Dante finally comes to the final level of Hell, the devil is described as a large beast covered in fur. He has three heads, each with an ultimate sinner trapped in their jaws, and yet he himself is imprisoned in a frozen wasteland. (Yes, the deepest pit of hell is frozen over.) It is interesting how such a demonic figure, a portrayal of death, is written as trapped, being unresponsive to all outwardly life.

This leads me to my second depiction of death, the servant. It is described sometimes as a visitor who will tap on your door. Naturally you answer only to find nothing there. Wait--no, not nothing, for there cannot be nothing within something. No, there is darkness at your door. A knock from within the darkness. Looking closer however, you begin to see a being that appears to be made of dark matter. Or, perhaps the figure is simply wearing a dark cloak. Take it as you will, for there ahead, a large scythe is drawn and aimed for your soul. Of course what I am referring to here, is the Grim Reaper, a servant of an unknown external force that travels to everywhere at once in order to deliver the dead to their resting place. A good medium for this particular incarnation of death is the Discworld series Grim Reaper.

First, a brief description: the Discworld series was written by fantasy novelist Terry Pratchet. It is a series of books with various stories about a parallel universe (the Discworld) in which the world is actually a flat disc and is balancing four elephants which in turn are being carried around throughout the universe by a giant turtle named A’Tuin. Each story within the Discworld is a parody of a lot of the traditions and philosophies we have in our world. Death, who often serves as a connection or recurring motif throughout the series, will comment on Discworld beliefs and in turn make observations of our world as well. Death is probably one of the most entertaining characters of all. Sarcastic as he is wise, death comments on various convictions and theologies of our own world. Such as; “All things that are, are ours. But we must care. For if we do not care, we do not exist. If we do not exist, then there is nothing but blindoblivion. Andeven oblivion must endsomeday….to return what was given. For the sake of prisoners andthe flight of birds.” Ending finally with the thoughts, “Lord, what can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the reaper man?”(this is from the book “The Reaper Man”) Death, who speaks in all caps throughout the tales of Discworld, is a servant to the rules of the universe. There is a movie version of the one of these Discworld stories that is actually a parody of our own Christmas—Hogswatch. The film is called Hogfather and I encourage you to try and watch it. The witness and the ever presence depictions of death share many commonalities. However, there is a distinct line drawn between the two. In regards to the witness, I refer to the The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. In this medium, death serves as the narrator of the story, telling his observations of a young school girl living in Nazi Germany. Through the “eyes” of death, and the thoughts of Liesel Meminger, we gain a new perspective of life and the slow step-by-step descent into World War II. Here is where the line between the witness and the ever presence is drawn. As the witness possesses a sense of meaning or reason, and a means of expressing motivation, the ever presence does not. The ever presence comes in various mediums and in many ways expresses itself through reality. It is not a character we can call out to, or an opposing figure we can battle and overcome, but a constant presence. It can be in the corner of your bedroom at night, never moving an inch but always a threat of sorts to you or those who you happen to care about at that moment of time. It is as if the darkness of your room only makes the fear grow, and the presence ever more there. This presence though, from personal experience, never truly hits you until you witness the absence of life itself. I request to speak personally, and you can skip to the next paragraph if you would rather not like to read—it is your decision to read or not. The anniversary of my grandfather’s death is just around the corner, and I find it tapping the depths of my mind every so often. I remember the day he returned from the hospital, we had just tucked him into his bed as he prepared for a nice, long sleep. He had asked me to get him a pen and paper in order to write down various notes of something or another. Those were the last words he said to me before he fell into a coma, and later breathed his last breath. The ever presence was silent that night. No words spoken, no cries of frustration or pain, but, quiet breathing and noiseless tears. No, the ever presence didn’t truly make itself known in my case until the funeral. It came in the figures and shadows of my relatives and unknown friends of the deceased. It came in the words of strangers, and the out loud remembrances of my father. It came in the music of two religions so different and yet so similar in the belief that there is one god and one soul. Death came in many forms that day onward; Still, I sometimes see the ever presence in the corner of my eye—watching, waiting, and sometimes protecting. For if my grandfather’s death gave me anything, if such a thing can be considered a gift, it gave me acceptance. As an inevitable, unavoidable, and destined outcome, I have grown to embrace death as an acquaintance. Someone who I will no doubt meet many times in the future. As an ever presence, they may sometimes appear in my memories, appear in my dreams, and support me in my horrors. For the act of dreaming is only a temporary taste of death’s forbidden—embracing elixir. One day, preferably not soon, they may confront me personally. My only wish for that second of an instant, with all my ambitions conquered and my life well fulfilled, I can have the courage to say, “Hello.”