Stench of Death, a Journal Entry

The world around me with all its shapes, textures, colors, dimensions and sounds turned sour. A wild ringing of white hazy light and noise crashed against the calm that characterized my former weeks. All this from unwelcome disruption caused by a disclosure of rather uncomfortable information. I do not wish it on anyone. Old fears transformed into towering giants. After I’d worked so hard to shrink them into the pygmies that lived in the furthest reaches of my mind. How quickly they grew and without my consent. All that and I’d not even heard the worst of it, but the stench of death is vile no matter what amount you get.

But death is not all bad.

There are two types of death. One which begets more death; it kills and kills until the light and life are obliterated forever. Then there is the death that begets life. The loss of one life to bring about another, a new one. Like a seed that dies and brings forth a tree that blooms and produces fruit for years to come. I pray against one as I pray for the other. I want the ending to be a demise colored in greens and pinks, so far from the rotting flesh it currently is. This is an impossible hope, one expected but without the need for rose-colored glasses. In fact, the spectacles I look through are tinted in crimson making all I see upside-down and therefore full of possibility.

I am expecting the impossible, I have hope.

And as the impact of the news has lost its initial sting, death begetting life is already evident. Grace begets mercy. Compassion begets discipline. Anger begets patience. The result seems fitting as the chill of winter makes way for the blossoms of spring.