They remind me of a poster that we had up in our rehearsal studio in San Francisco about the dangers of alcohol. It was a copy of an old Spanish language poster with a drawing of a "healthy" man, and then a drawing of the same person if he was alcoholic. I think it was supposed to be serious, which is what made it funny. Guess which one I feel I look like.
So I look in the mirror and tell myself that this is the result of years of constant drinking and I'm going to die soon. I try to face it like it was reality and not just wishful imagination. I push myself to think of it as reality and think about my existence and being and that it is coming to an end.
After all, eventually it's something all of us are going to have to face. And I'm not taking this lightly, it's not an easy thing to face. I cling, I desire, I don't want to die, I detach, I accept, I'm alright with it.
I'm afraid of heights. But I try to face it. I don't avoid heights. When I'm in a high place, I push myself to imagine myself floating, off the safety of the precipice, and the feeling of nothing solid below me. And falling, the moments of plunging that I know is the worst feeling in the world for me. Aside from being covered with spiders.
But I know no matter how I challenge my fear, no matter what I imagine or visualize, it is no comparison to the actual experience. It's probably the same with dying. I try to prepare myself for what might happen after death, but the letting go of this habit of being this person, this ego, this existence, is probably nothing I can prepare for.
WordsCharactersReading time
