I was at Port Arthur, the UNESCO Heritage site in Tasmania. That was where the Mighty British Empire housed their vilest convicts in the 1800s. I read this poem on its walls.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am now a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Death is something that we all need to confront one day. There are many views on death. There are views from wise men, views from different religions, views from those who claimed to have Near Death Experiences and had glimpsed the other side.
Mary Elizabeth Frye's view is glorious. She almost implied that its good to be dead. It is not a learnt view. It's like wishful thinking.
But it is beautifully written. It is eloquent and joyous. It is something to look forward to face without fear.
I do not have as great expectations. I simply wish that I could 'rest in peace' when the time comes.
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