A grave illness resides with my father and we, his family, breathe on, our minds plagued with a dull ache that cannot be suppressed. But what goes through a person’s mind at this time? Is death as simple as opening a window? Do you have a clear view of what lays beyond or are you adrift in the darkness? Czeslaw Milosz writes in his poem Winter:
“…when the sun rises beyond the borderlands of death,
I already see the mountain ridges in the heavenly forest
Where beyond every essence, a new essence waits.”
alive in the sea of information 