heavy on the beaded shores

without pain there would be no understanding of limits. a throbbing muscle, a struck bone, the utter agony and then the numbness that follows. it seems unbareable but what is there to compare it to. it’s part of living, the bite of the lip and cursing, the tissue tears in the flex of skin. the tightness of chest after exertion, the world shrinks to the size of your body and nothing else penetrates, ripples of nerve ending surging with wave upon wave of fire. it makes it all so earthy, through out life, there is pain and pleasure, sometimes more of one depending. and then death, one last shot so low and scowly that is sucks the very life out of you. and then the numbness follows but does the healing begin? in a different way. i think about death, about the death in living. i dont know if that makes sense, but i think if you go to a part in your brain, you can try to fathom what death means. i watch the trees outside, the anteloupe, the grass, everything in a cycle. the clay and the mushy swamp of land, fisting cascades of life round and round. soft round eggs, new born mice, a fawn in the field, there is life everywhere slipping in a slow dance towards death. there is always some fear tied with death but i dont know if there should be. it is a transition, a following through, a perfect transformation. life would not be life without death, they are hand in hand like lovers. in the beginning there is the first kiss of life, the twisting turving start to a story that rocks heavy on the beaded shores towards the last passionate kiss of death. if we looked at it logically like we try to look at other things, death may be just another beginning.