A commercial plane crashes a military helicopter over the Potomac in Washington D.C..
I imagine that the worst part about dying is not dying. It is not to let go of the body and melt into the atmosphere. The worst part are the minutes, hours, days or months leading to it.
My utmost wish, is to die of old age, surrounded by my family, peacefully, simply letting go.
I truly don’t want to go with pain or fear. Every time I go on a plane, I have to surrender to the possibility of dying in a way that I don’t want. As I approach the aircraft, I touch the fuselage with my right hand and I commend myself to my father. Someone who did not take care of me during his time alive perhaps can do so now from whatever is beyond. Not that I believe in an afterlife, but whatever bit of energy my father was, knew a lot about planes and was never afraid in one. So, I hope that this energy cradles me and keeps me safe, the way a father should.
As I move on, further and further into the undiscovered territory of the self, and I start learning to take care of myself with intention and not as an emergency, I wonder how should I think of outside help? particularly of the intangible kind…
