The Dance I Have With Death

Twirling with death until I’m dipped below the ocean floors

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” — Norman Cousins

We all have a beginning, which means we all have an ending. But that doesn’t mean we sit in life idly, merely awaiting the inevitable.

We have this tango with death, unsure of when our last dip will be just that: our last. So we keep dancing the night away, continuing on as if there is no last.

We sing karaoke — even if our voices tremble and crackle and unwind in a chaotic manner — wishing well forth our present state of being.

The stars wink at us from nearly every direction, allowing us the freedom to twirl beneath them, yet stare above at them in awe, wondering when we too will be winking alongside the stars.

The oceans kiss our feet, forcing us to keep walking toward the deeper floors, until we must hold our breaths but never for too long a time.

The gloomy Death Reaper holds his arms wide open, ready to hug us tightly at any fucking second, and we may even develop him as a new dance partner, but that doesn’t mean he’s our only partner.

The dance I have with death? It’s the same dance you have with death. He twirls us and beckons us and sometimes dips us, but that doesn’t always bring us to the last song played.

I used to veil myself in front of death, wearing a mask and playing a character that’s not me. But I then realized he’ll always know the real me, so I flaunt my life as if no one ever is watching.

To run from my demise, I’ve learned, means bondage. And I no longer wear chains that tether myself to fear: I now face the reality of the past, present and even future.

I have this theory that the beginning and ending are truly just one and the same, so it’s the middle (en media res) that counts for what life utterly entails.

The song begins slowly yet suddenly, much like its similar ending, and so I dance the nights away as if they’re not my last — never my last.

The last this? Or the last that? They may be the actual lasts — who the fuck knows?! Or they may be the moments that force us to just keep dancing.

And so I dance. I dance with death, sometimes below deep waters. And sometimes below darkening skies.

But I don’t dwell on what death is anymore. Instead, I focus on what is set forth before me now, as I spin myself into a new state of bliss: the bliss of the precious now.

For I now believe the truth death that causes sorrow beyond recognition is the premature death of ourselves, before we actually leave behind this world.

The true death of us is: when we lose sight of who we are, gripping reality as if it’s some façade, as if we aren’t even us anymore.

The energy roaming amidst this universe in its entirety also finds its way inside of us (is this what we call a soul?), but if we repress this valuable energy, we die a death whilst still alive.

And so I dance. I dance as if no one is watching. I twirl myself into a tizzy until I’m too tired to keep moving, but then I dance some more because I’m still alive.

I’m also still and only will ever be: me.

Natalie Maddy writes about dark inspirations, digging through the filth of the world to unveil its beautiful truths — in forms of abstract, fantasy, and bewilderment. She is the author of: The Reddest Rose Bleeds the Deepest.

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