Death is a Doorway

Standing
At the face of the reposed stone
Inscripted with names,
I rest
And remember
The mother I’ve never met.
I long
And yearn some more
For greeting phrases that await my arrival
In the next place,
A passage I have not yet read.

Waiting,
I reflect on my faithful friend
Who just now left,
So suddenly,
Passing through a door
In the ground –
A door admitting entrance
More readily
Than granting one return passage.
His place is further,
Another part in the book,
The next grand adventure.

Death,
A doorway not to be feared,
With plot largely unknown,
Is a path
From life to life
Between chapters of experience.
One school is finished,
Another begins,
But the life that passes through,
A common thread,
Is still the same,
Only more.
Death is merely a passage
To be written.

Mostly unseen,
One piece of my heart died,
Entering
The consuming furnace of unfamiliar trial
And test
As words I penned
Were etched in my heart by choice.
Repeatedly
My heart emerged again
And again,
Largely the same and unharmed.
Lesser parts purged,
The better made clearer.

The last time I passed away,
In the first place,
Or that which came before,
I left
Those who were familiar
And loved me.
In keeping my first estate,
I gave it up
And was given another.
Even now, I remember nothing
About that death.
Upon my leaving,
I was affectionately received
By family.

Did I lose or did I gain?
Which did it seem at first,
In that place?
Did I know
The expanse of loss
Makes room for more given?
Did I see
Losing the wrong is always better
And losing good
Temporary?
Did I know I would know
Someday?

Now I consider
The arrival of some future point
When my time here
Becomes
A passage in a book.
Will I fear that experience,
New and unfamiliar,
As though it is the first time?
Or will I be ready to turn another page
Just like the last?
If ye are prepared, ye shall not fear.

Each time I die,
And offer one more part
That clings for existence,
The pattern of life is reread.
As long as I am willing,
The pathway seems to lead my heart and mind
Further up and further in.
If I remember, and feel,
I do not fear.
Verily,
It is written.

Books are inscripted,
Capturing the things we forget,
The memories
That escape our minds,
And the lessons
We thought we knew.
Death,
Is a doorway
Not to be feared,
But respected
With honest tears
In hope of the things we know
To wash away our fears.




“To die will be an awfully big adventure.” James M. Barrie, Peter Pan.

“One school is finished, and the time has come for another to begin.” Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

“If ye are prepared, ye shall not fear.” (Doctrine & Covenants 38:30)

“Come further up, come further in.” C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle.


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