Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

[imood mood at time of entry: good]

I sometimes lie in bed and believe that there can be no relief from the ache of knowing that I too will one day die. I try my best to stifle my tears and any noises that are determined to make themselves and my anguish known to the world. But then, after the Peter Winter Solstice Celebration on the Public Radio station finished earlier, something called the Romantic Hour came on. The premise is that the hostess plays classical music, and reads a beautiful poem at intervals. When she read the following poem, I teared up a bit and felt so much better. The poem will come to mind when panic sets in. This is the poem:

“Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep”

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die

–

I feel immensely better just seeing these words on eletronic paper. I will have to go to the library and print them out, so that I can paste them in my offline journal to read when I begin to fear what the transition will bring. How it will feel.

I am like all humans, I fear the unknown, I fear what I cannot remember or wholly understand. I know that I have lived before, but I cannot remember the death portion of that life. There is no denying the strange thoughts and pulls to activities that I cannot explain. There is no denying the feeling of memories itching to be recognized for what they are when I come into contact with situations or ways of life. There is no denying.

But it is the thought of when and how it will happen has begun to frighten me more so lately. People are so careless that I don’t know even whether I will peacefully die in my sleep, or be hit by a stray bullet. I don’t know how I manage to get to sleep some nights for the overwhelming fear that it will be my last time to close my eyes to the world.

Of course there is the intense relief I feel when I open my eyes the next day to a body and soul still intact. I know it seems pointless to dwell on what I cannot control, but it serves as a driving force to make me live life, but it also to hinder my desire to move forward with that life. After all, what would be the purpose of living a life and no one even remembers that you were ever here?

I suppose that this translates to my desire to be famous. To set immortal words that will forever proclaim that “I wuz here (insert date)” as is scribbled on so many restroom walls. I was here dammit, and I don’t ever want to be lost in the unimaginable lives that crease(d) to exist. I am quite hopeful of this marking because I found a community on LiveJournal that is dedicated solely to honoring those LJers who have moved on. Finally, I will have my “I wuz here!”

But what happens when the Internet no longer exists, and LJ is simply a fading memory? Shall I then too fade, or will I somehow live on the heart of an unknown somebody who happened to find my name on an aging, printed list of those who were a part of something called “LiveJournal” and only wanted the world to remember her after she left it? *sighs* One can only hope for that much. I could always build a pyramid. . . *considers ungodly cost of pyramid building these days*

In other news, it looks like I will be starting an online petition website with a friend of mine. I always did love myself a good cause to champion. I’ll have to see what becomes of ambition. I’ll link it here when it’s done. I am now going to build a website for my uncle’s business as well. My darned mother cannot stop telling people that I build websites for fun. *lol* Well, at least she supports one of my talents, even if it is not as polished as it could be. I’ll learn as I go along then, my favorite method of doing things anyway.

Danielle