values from death
When swimming in the ocean and being knocked about by waves, there may come a point when one sweeps you off your feet, turning you end over end, and ultimately overpowering you. It isn’t much to worry about, as the waves come in intervals and give time to recover, to surface and find air. In between the beginning and the end, however, there is a moment when the wave takes you in its embrace, holding you for a minor eternity, nestling you in its reality. In this time, you can taste the brackish water trickling down the back of your tongue and dripping down your throat, the brine washing your sinus with its rough stink. As the wave pulls you into its domain, it can relinquish you of balance and direction, removing all clues as to which way is up or where the surface lies hidden.
I have had several brushes with death, each time it presented itself as an unexpected occasion that was usually caused by negligence or downright foolishness. There were a number of motor vehicle incidents and sporting accidents that nearly put me to my end. Never in my life was I completely swept under a wave of death until I immersed myself in a way of life foreign to most Americans, a standard of living where the only human right that is offered is the right to exist in destitution; that is, until somebody revokes the fickle and fragile right to that life.
Death is not a foreign concept in any society, but in affluent western regions, it is a concept limited to certain hospital wards and the occasional bloody mess on a major roadway. Loss of life is a tragedy, an untimely, unexpected accident or a slow, expected passing. This is contrary to much of the world, where life is much more precious, as lives are lost much more readily. In addition to plagues and pandemics, famine and malnourishment, random accidents or chronic health conditions, there is also a substantial threat to life by militant factions. Not only does this additional factor contribute to a large amount of deaths, but it inspires a completely different view of life and death. Suddenly, death is not a grim reaper who comes to collect peaceful souls if they should wander wayward from their comfortable bodies, but rather the grim reaper grows a human face, evokes dark emotions, and will most likely instill absolute terror in you before it slits your throat or paints the landscape with your organs.
Brushes with the afterlife are a thing of exhilaration for those that have never faced an enemy that would readily relinquish you of your life. The psychology of simply having an enemy that would take your life may profoundly change the way you choose to live your life. I relished the chance to take on dangerous sports and activities, counting the scars and stitches as though they were trophies. Having glimpsed down barrels of loaded weapons and stared down the blade of a knife held direct to my face, I now see that there are those who would gladly relieve me of the burden of living. I have seen just a few of those who would have me dead, if given the time and place to make it happen. Suddenly life seems so much more valuable.
Perhaps it’s the fight, the basic resilience against a powerful force. Maybe it’s the practice of exercising rights and abilities, now that they have been pointed out that they even exist. Now that I have seen life challenged for so many people, it seems a much worthier cause. This contrasts heavily with the society I grew up in, where life was just something that was lived because it was the thing to do, and it was occasionally ended because someone whimsically decided that living was, indeed, not the thing to do. Life and death take entirely new meanings after having been tossed around a bit, nestled in a cradle of death and destruction, and being given the option to escape- and to live.
Much like being tossed about by waves and being taken under by the tide, death takes on a new meaning after you have coughed its salty water from your lungs, after feeling its rough brine wash your insides. Having been immersed in waves of death, watching the tides ebb and flow around me from region to region and time to time, I feel as though I have walked out of death’s overwhelming reach, for the time being. By putting nothing more than distance between myself and extremely destructive forces, I have found respite from danger, either perceived or real, but have opened myself to the gnawing existential questions that await. Truthfully, I have only opened myself up to the questions that most in this world have to face daily, without having the option of putting distance between themselves and their nemeses.
What is life worth? Is it worth living, having to endure the daily ordeal of existence? Is it worth dying, simply giving in to someone else’s demand? What could a life’s worth be pegged at? Is it worth dying for a brother? Is it worth giving up your life to save your mother? Your child? To take up arms for your country? For the four walls and simple roof that you call home? Would you die for your crops? Your cattle? Or perhaps not dying for material objects, but for the simple chance to live normally? For your livelihood? These questions were never asked of me before, and were barely answered and only done so inadvertently. Now, it seems as if there is no greater and more important task than to pin down exactly what life and death is worth.
As I wretch from the faint scent of death that remains in my nostrils, heaving one last time from the dusty taste of destruction, the world needs much less explaining. Humanity, and the history it has weaved, make much more sense to me now, with priorities having been placed in order. How I will live my life also seems much clearer with all of these murky questions answered. Having already tumbled about in the waves, losing all sense of direction and swimming in pure confusion, I have since surfaced and come to appreciate that which held me tight and nestled me close.
