Girded by a pressure suit, guided by skill and science, an astronaut must learn the lessons of complete compliance. It requires trust and backbone to travel through the dark, trusting hands thousands of miles away to guide that ark
that speeds him through the solar system, up to regions where his surroundings are devoid of gravity and air. Accepting the unknown and resisting terror’s bark, he hurtles into outer space, accepting danger’s lark.
What prompts him to accept the threat of loneliness and death— to face an end from fire or from lack of breath? It is exceptional valor, proving bravery and worth to face his end so far from the comforts of this earth.
Does he face a different heaven in another clime, his molecules merged after death to a different time? Is he bound to spend infinity apart from worlds he’s known, blown into the universe, forever, now, alone?
No earth he knows to go to to blend back in the world. From his own nature’s cycle, now forever hurled. Does he merge into a wider world, another evolution, absorbed within the rules of a new orb’s revolution?
Will he travel back again in centuries far distant, in an alien craft, his molecules so insistent to return to their origins that they are drawn back home to the soil of this Earth or to the ocean’s foam?
Or can he find his way back home again solely on his own, intent on his not spending eternity alone? How wide is one’s soul’s orbit? How vast its gravity? Can it bring a shipless astronaut back from infinity?
Every tortured ending, every tearful parting may simply be the means to another soul’s restarting. Freshening up our memory, clearing off the clutter. Making our way simpler, like a warm knife cutting butter. Why do we fuss and bother? Why do we tear our hair when we’re suddenly a single after being a pair? Another game has started—to find each other again in another life or this one. How can we know when? Life is an adventure, a continual seeking full of little wrinkles in need of constant tweaking. We’re blind to the whole of it, but often get a peek to help us find the goal that we are meant to seek. We are the markers in a game whose players we don’t know— impetuously wishing the game were not so slow. We want to know our endings and what we will be getting when in truth each ending will just be a resetting.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fright Night.” What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
Although it feels to me that my main fear is fear of death,
I think what I really fear is the loss of breath.
For when I have night panics that drive me bolt upright,
it isn’t so much fear of darkness brought on by the night,
as it is my fear of something cutting off my air.
It is thoughts of smothering that I cannot bear.
The very thing that makes me fight the snorkel mask and rise
above alluring water worlds for a view of skies
(and all the breaths they bring with them–breaths more easily won
when not underwater, but out here in the sun)
is what causes fear of death––that last futile grasp
to hold on to all of life with one final gasp.
Life is so incredible, I don’t want it to end;
for I have no idea at all what’s waiting round the bend.
At times a flash of memory reveals a bygone life
filled with superstition, violence and strife.
If that is what’s in front of me in a new incarnation,
I’d like to miss out on that life and take a small vacation
from all the karma has in store if my next life is worse,
with no time for leisure––no time for blogs or verse––
then oblivion may not be the worst thing that could be.
Perhaps then I could just accept that there will be no me.
Give in to fate and realize I’m just a part of all.
that recycles and recycles–guided by death’s call.