Glowing plankton Doug Perrine

Seismographic seas that have till now eluded,

explode through the tips,

the ends of me,

flame a blue

circumference of seasons,

no themes,

no reasons,

no decisions or goals.

Mattering like the bottom of the ocean

moving in circular sounds;

no one hears the splash

or wanders through

at night to see if

fish swim,

if trees fall

if rocks split;

dying is simply

a part of the rhythm

an understanding thoughtlessly

scattered underneath

like seeds,

like marrow,

or an act

that knows, finally,

what it is doing.


So, now you have decided–at least your body has–to go. To shapeshift into you.  To become your truest essence.  We’ll miss you we say, only because we don’t know that you are still here. We’ll miss you in physical form, a body that most of us just barely inhabit, so busy are we criticizing it. Lost as we are in anything but our essential beingness the transition from this to that seems like falling hard on concrete–shocked by the silent knowing that once was matter.  But were we able to see who we are, see the peaceful, divine essence that we are, that even a body is, it would be just like walking into the sea, learning to breathe underwater. May the walk on the beach bless you, Joan, with funny surprises.

RIP Joan Rivers

© Andrea Mathews 2014

2 thoughts on “Death

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