It's been a dark week and I feel drawn to offer some minor reflections on death. The horrors of three mass shootings in one day certainly makes its contribution to the darkness, but even before that there was a weight and shadow to this week that left me consistently a little breathless and disturbed. Teaching was difficult, I was distracted, there were voices on the wind. Then, this morning, I awoke to find this truly breathtaking piece by Rhyd Wildermuth over at the Wild Hunt:
Gates of the Abyss:
"But under this all is Death, the pale voiceless corpse, our lost stories, our tales tapering off into silence not for lack of words but absence of tongue. What meaning can we derive from death, when it is itself the Abyss into which all meaning leaks out?"
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| Historical image, Brown Lady Ghost photo. Originally taken in 1936 by Captain Hubert C. Provand (Indre Shire Inc.), and published in the magazine 'Countrylife' in the same year. |
