Some wounds go deep. They burrow down and take root in the mud and mire of life’s little pains.
They are wounds that we glimpse out of the corner of our eye, like a ghost or a shadow.
They are the thing we pretend is not there.
They are the wounds that twist fear in our stomachs, way down in the dark of our being.
Just a flash.
Ooops, there’s a thing I should be looking at, working on.
Abandonment. Resentment. Neglect. Abuse.
These things scar us, and direct us. They take us on a journey whether we look at them or not.
They are in us. They are us.
I was having a sneaky read of The Guardian at work today. The topic was death.
More precisely, our fear of death.
A lot of the comments suggested that what people feared most was dying a painful death.
I don’t fear pain. I sleep with pain, wake with it and have lived with it everyday day for the last 8 years.
And no, I don’t mean spiritual existential pain, but actual physical pain.
Pain I can come to terms with. Yes, it grinds you down, can make you numb. But it’s known.
Pain is not the thing I fear about death.
I fear the idea that I will cease to exist. That the thing that makes me me, can and will vanish.
Where will I go? Where will my thoughts go? How can I just not be here?
To vanish into darkness, how is that possible? I mean really? How can the sum total of all our experiences and feelings over the course of our lives just disappear in the blink of an eye?
Maybe there’s a heaven, or at the very least an afterlife.
But maybe there’s not.
What if there’s not?