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The Healing of Death - I
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 12 May 2006, 5:26 am
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The Healing of Death
I
For certain is death for the born
And certain is birth for the dead;
Therefore over the inevitable
Thou shouldst not grieve.
Bhagavad Gita
The sun was bright and assaulting, hanging menacingly in the sky and beating the occupants of this earth with radiation and heat that only brought upon the natural responses of perspiration and dehydration. Clouds did not exist in the heavens, and humidity could not hope to subsist in such a dry and featureless climate. This was the true definition of a wasteland, of a world where very little existed to fight for—or defend.
Sand and rocks spread out for miles, and only the occasional shrub protruded from the hard, grainy earth. In the distance were the intermittent cacti and lean, old trees, and in between the horizon and these rolling dunes of desert were the rising hills of rock and sand, beckoning to be walked upon, to be discovered, to be a part of something greater than the silence that plagued this land. Only the unimpeded wind made noise as it swept over the earth, pushing small particles across the ground as the only visible movement in the still scene.
The heat was oppressive, and the mirages manifested among the distant terrain in a taunting display of slow yet firm power possessed by the burning star millions of miles above. To any unprepared man or creature, this sweltering land would be fatal, and to any unsuspecting or ignorant being, this land would be painful and insurmountable. Only the very adept or adapt could live under these conditions, and as the dark entity that silently prowled the rocky hills and sandy valleys wished, very few came to this place. And, for those who did taunt its undeniable power to destroy, very few ever left.
So it was evident that traveling through or living under this unbearable land was not desirable, nor was it rightful for someone to order another to this place. Yet, as fate and reality cruelly manipulated, such was seemingly always the case, and in spite of this darkness that wordlessly asserted that no man or creature should traverse these deadly grounds, some always found a way in. Whether it be by the actions of others or the arrogance of oneself, someone always inhabited this wasteland.
It was inevitable.
Yet, even for someone of decent intelligence and understanding of these facts, enduring these elements was a necessity. The obvious question was why. Why would someone, without argument or refusal, negotiate this environment? Perhaps it was the unfaltering obedience that had been beaten into them prior to arrival, or maybe the false illusion of pride or responsibility in the authority that dictated their actions. Or maybe it was the patriotism that coursed though their veins at the sight of propaganda. Or perhaps it was the sense of defiance that whaled up from within at the sight of seeing worlds fall and thousands die mercilessly by the hand of a faceless enemy.
Whatever it was, or whatever combination among them that applied, it did not defy the reality of being here. Under this scorching sun, breathing in this dry air, and sweating any water left within the fatigued body, it was apparent that whatever had allowed oneself to accept these abhorrent conditions is what kept them from leaving. Whatever respect for authority, respect for one another, or respect for their future was keeping them from resignation and simply walking towards those distant hills which offered the only hope of freedom. Yet freedom was a constricted idea, one that didn't exist anymore. Freedom, in all its forms, had been banished decades ago as the nemesis of humanity made known their intentions.
Now, every soul of every age was conscripted into this war. Every former way of life was erased from existence and replaced with some globally asserted party line to instill within all the will to fight, the will to survive. This very totalitarianism issued over a once free network of civilizations was what forced the men and women who had no desire to occupy this land to defend it. It was sickening, and it was continuously contemplated ways to escape, though all with most of their sanity remaining understood the damning fact that escape was not an option. Rather, in a depressing though undeniable fashion, each and every person understood that only three things would come to pass before their release from this hell could be warranted. Victory, defeat, or death.
To all, every option seemed viable at a time like this. Anything but remaining here was acceptable, and one way or another one of those three options had to be achieved. While the authorities called for the first and denounced the second, every soldier slowly became aware of the last one. Despite the genetic structure and intrinsic will of men to live on, to persevere, to elude death, one rarely found the gene of self-actualization, and in desolation like this the realization that it would not come to pass crept in and tainted the mind. And sometime thereafter, when the contemplation of life and meaning slowly subsided and the realization of a terminate future came into acknowledgement, life and victory became but little unachievable utopias of the mind.
And sure to follow was the persuasive voice of that dark entity that prowled this wasteland. With its persistent manipulation and forcible ways to breakdown the mind and will, it quickly asserted the third option—the one option that a single man could hope to grasp—as the only option. In all honesty, if the first two were out of reach, either by the junta of one's authority or by the defiance of one's enemy, then was there really three options at all?
As the hours wore on into days, and the days into weeks, the acceptance of that fact settled surprisingly easily upon the mind. Men that once believed that life would last forever, that happiness and fulfillment would come to pass, now conceded to accept their own mortality. And slowly and steadily, resignation settled upon them, and only one act remained to be accomplished. With the evident truth that there was only one way out of this madness, of this scorching earth of no value, the decision was finalized. Some would call it insane, wrong, or even eternally damning, but the certainty remained.
It was the only way out.
Eyes that once would have stared wide at this sight now only narrowly looked around. No nervousness remained, no second thoughts, only the acceptance that life had come to a wall, a wall that was not traversable nor avoidable. And with grim belief that nothing was to gain, the mind quickly concluded that there was nothing to lose.
Staring at one another, faces neutral and lips pursed, the hands fumbled with the syringes on the cot before them. Sweat from the burning heat outside the darkened tent poured down their faces, and each man took in the resignation that their actions would alleviate this pain and suffering. They didn't know where their minds or souls would go after this, but it was better than living in this hell. Even if this act condemned them to the mystical hell that many spoke of and feared, what was there to lose? Just for one brief moment out of this depression, out of this sickness, out of this sadness was worth the risk of eternal damnation.
All they had wanted was out. All they had wanted was to leave this desolation. And all the weeks and months they had spent fighting for it, fighting for the opportunity to ascend into the heavens and away from this despair they had forgotten the one thing within their power to escape it. Now it was evident, and now it would come to pass.
Without a word, the empty eyes stared jadedly at one another, and in one barely perceptible motion, the long, sharp ends of the syringes pierced through the skin of the lower arm and into the brachialis. The liquid was then squeezed into the bloodstream, its deadly properties quickly going to work against the body. Neither man made any effort to resist as the killing substance coursed through their now dying body, and rather fell back slowly onto the olive green cots, staring at the dark, green tent ceiling above them. Their departure from this life was now only moments away, and soon they would no longer need to endure this world or the depression that had asserted itself upon their afflicted minds.
Without anticipation, the feeling in their limbs slowly evaporated. The minds glazed over and the visions slowly narrowed to nothing. In one last effort, each man remembered their past and what they had left behind, and what had been taken from them by this war. Everything passed before their fading consciousness in one fluid motion, every face and event, before the end of the reminiscence descended upon them. In painless transition, the bodies ceased function and the minds expired.
Now, nothing but the afterlife was left to discover, and the apparitions from both men ascended away, never to return to this hell. Nothing but the blinding light encompassing their awareness remained to be confronted, and slowly they drifted towards it. Fear, love, hate, happiness and faith all were stripped away, and emptily they faced the kingdom beyond.
For certain is death for the born
And certain is birth for the dead;
Therefore over the inevitable
Thou shouldst not grieve.
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