angels

From “Last Tango in Paris”: “You’re alone…you won’t be able to be free of that feeling of being alone until you look death right in the face…until you go right up into the ass of death…”

Someone told me, “Oh you want a husband! No, no — you don’t want to die alone!” The most alone I’ve ever been was when I was with someone; there was a person who represented an idea that I shouldn’t be alone, yet I was, so it became a mockery, which is even more painful. Doesn’t matter how compatible to me they were.

You’re going to die alone even if you die with a roomful of people. You’re born alone. You die alone, just the same as your experience in this existence is only yours and no one else can fit inside of it and prescribe a course of living for you based on that existence. Twins are born together. But are they experiencing the exact same thing together as if they were in one skin? This last part reminded me of something my sweet Kyle had written a bit back.

But I don’t know — maybe this would be possible in a higher state of consciousness. So maybe we can die with people. Maybe our energy can merge and float off into the ether, made up of different chemical compounds of course since the energy transforms, and we go back into the “essence” together. Scientists say when we die, there is energy that doesn’t, so maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice? Humans just have a tendency of making pretty metaphors of things — as we speak in colors — consisting of heaven and angels, etc.

It doesn’t matter to me if I die in my room by myself or if there are people surrounding me — I think that would be worse, to be fading away, leaving all of these grieving loved ones behind. Maybe.

I had the flu many years ago. I lie on the sofa for three days. I didn’t have enough strength to open the convertible bed. I thought, “I’m going to die here,” and it was very matter-of-fact, no fear. At that time I saw easily how simple it is to die, how easy it would be to just leave. I had no sentimentality about loved ones, nothing.

No matter whether you die with people or not, being alone is something you have to deal with by yourself. Having another person, or a body around you all the time isn’t the cure for loneliness. There’s some space inside yourself that you alone have to deal with.

This had been a building full of widows when I moved here years ago. I’m sure they all thought their husbands would be around so that they could “die together.” Ha!

I left Mean-Spirited Tales at this book store where I want to have a reading, because the associate said the owner needs to look through my book first. “Call in a week,” he said.

It’s weeks past the time he said to call. So I’m sure the owner has read the entire book by now and is waiting anxiously for my call. I’ll bet she’s all like, “Gosh, when’s Sandee calling? We need her! This Mean-Spirited Tales, it’s unguent, for the tortured soul…”

Of course it’s unguent — it has sadism, a beheading, alcoholics, liver pâté, the devil, an angel and some cats.

Do you know how many souls I’ve healed with my book? It frightens me to think of it.

My other reading was at the Indian Road Cafe. Patrons were there eating and talking. Good thing I invited lots of people and screamed the stories to drown the patrons out. After while I couldn’t hear any patrons. Or maybe they were just fascinated by my hypnotic story-telling skill – yes, that’s it. No wait – they were captivated by the creature horns on my head, by my piercing glare.

The Indian Road Café is a nice atmosphere and the food is great, but the book store has a podium! I’ve always wanted to pontificate behind a podium. No horns needed to draw attention to my flapping maw – I’ll be the center of everyone’s eye, standing tall.

I need to end this bookstore owner’s anticipation for my call though. I’ll hurry and call and schedule the date for my reading, that way she can celebrate it over the weekend. Who says Aunt Sandee isn’t altruistic.