Lula Nunn’s Last Breath
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At about two-thirty woke into a haze.
Chest pains, not sharp, but persistent, Usually could sit up and shake them off, A few deep breaths, some stretches and could go back to sleep. This moment was different. Instead of fighting it off, gave in. Welcomed it. Was the inevitable about to click in? Began to slide. I was slipping down, sinking into it. Soft, like kitten fur, or that special pillow I had as a child. I saw into my childhood, running down the hill in front of our house, our house on fire-- two sisters, three brothers died. Still sliding, slight momentum, graduating, getting married, active at church, playing the piano and singing. Family coming and going, babies, folks sick and dying. Sped up, sliding faster, life a symphony, full and dramatic, contracting to a chord, resolving to a single tone, with a special timbre. What was I as I sank into it, the softness, the gentle slide? Didn’t have to let go, just accepting it, Nothing was pried from me, no tearing, no searing, no pain at all. Not the way I expected it. I was gathered together in a moment. All my life and the lives I touched rang with the same tone. All that was. Then the light came to encapsulate that moment, to receive it. No one met me. I expected, when I thought of it before, to see family, friends, husband welcoming. I was not alone. Instead what I was filled all space, the tone tuned all that was. All that is. It rang and also became the light, Everything was in the sound and the shine. Goes on forever, without measure. A flash of eternity. What I thought was behind me disappeared. I have left a dream and now wake into stillness, Quiet. Nothing really. |