I dream I am dying. My last breath held tight, not wanting to let go. The primitive urge to survive racing through my brain and sinew. I know I have to let go, but can’t. I want to live for one more day! Why here? Why now?
I’ve read that the death journey is most amazing experience we’ll have as human beings. Yet I’ve been given this line about how it’s “the end”. The damp, cold ground, the endless darkness. This is the end I so not wish to meet.
As the intensity builds, I know I must let go of this last breath.
I experience the gap after the air is expelled. It is known as the “dead time”. A place were everything is known. A crossing from here to there.
A line so terrifying, yet so fragile.