death

[year2027]

God first

thanks everybody

the word of God

Death's Messengers

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

In ancient times a giant was wandering along the highway when suddenly a stranger jumped toward him and shouted, "Stop! Not one step further!"

"What?" said the giant. "You, a creature that I could crush between my fingers, you want to block my way? Who are you that you dare to speak so boldly?"

"I am Death," answered the other one. "No one resists me, and you too must obey my orders."

But the giant refused, and began to wrestle with Death. It was a long, violent battle, and finally the giant got the upper hand, and knocked Death down with his fist, causing him to collapse by a stone. The giant went on his way, and Death lay there conquered, so weak that he could not get up again.

"What is to come of this?" he said. "If I stay lying here in a corner, no one will die in the world, and it will become so filled with people that they won't have room to stand beside one another."

Meanwhile a young man came down the road. Vigorous and healthy, he was singing a song and looking this way and that. Seeing the half-conscious individual, he approached him with compassion, raised him up, gave him a refreshing drink from his flask, and waited until he regained his strength.

"Do you know," asked the stranger, as he stood up, "who I am, and whom you have helped onto his legs again?"

"No," answered the youth, "I do not know you."

"I am Death," he said. "I spare no one, nor can make an exception with you. However, so you may see that I am grateful, I promise you that I will not attack you without warning, but instead will send my messengers to you before I come and take you away."

"Good," said the youth. "It is to my benefit that I shall know when you are coming, and that I will be safe from you until then."

Then he went on his way, and was cheerful and carefree, and lived one day at a time. However, youth and good health did not last long. Soon came sickness and pain, which tormented him by day and deprived him of his rest by night.

"I shall not die," he said to himself, "for Death will first send his messengers, but I do wish that these wicked days of sickness were over."

Regaining his health, he began once more to live cheerfully. Then one day someone tapped on his shoulder.

He looked around, and death was standing behind him, who said, "Follow me. The hour of your departure from this world has come."

"What?" replied the man. "Are you breaking your word? Did you not promise me that you would send your messengers to me before you yourself would come? I have not seen a one of them."

"Be still!" answered Death. "Have I not sent you one messenger after another? Did not fever come and strike you, and shake you, and throw you down? Has not dizziness numbed your head? Has not gout pinched your limbs? Did your ears not buzz? Did toothache not bite into your cheeks? Did your eyes not darken? And furthermore, has not my own brother Sleep reminded you every night of me? During the night did you not lie there as if you were already dead?"

The man did not know how to answer, so he surrendered to his fate and went away with Death.

with love and a holy kiss Roy

[sirguessalot]

what a gem, Roy

i can no longer help but wonder if what the brothers grimm are pointing to here is perhaps closer to the original meaning behind the biblical "thief in the night" type warnings.

much like a notion in the fields of aging and hospice...that one does well (for everyone) to avoid "doing our all our homework in the 11th hour"

as if the original context and living application of the metaphors involved a calling and devotion to "dying well" and the very real effect that this alone has on aging and the development of the moral imagination.

is it possible we have replaced the profound wisdom of the very real "arts" of "dying well" with the literalization and perpetuation of mere supernatural hero myths?

if so, is this the kind of scriptural distortion that leads to destructive misuse...mostly for simply "missing the vital point" and all its correlating fundamentals?

...

a pattern...

last night i went to an event where neighboring christian and muslim communities met to debate their different views of easter and the resurrection.

as usual, both the christian and muslim leaders presented and debated mostly only over matters of translation, evidence for supernatural, right interpretations, etc....

when the microphone was passed around for some Q&A, i simply asked something like, "are either of you aware of the rich histories of life and practice in the "arts of dying" that are associated with both sacred texts and religions?"

both more-or-less said "no"...and changed the subject back to the supernatural and such.

talked a bit more with each of them in the afterward social, clarified a bit more about how the "arts of dying" included things like stages of life, aging, hospice, grief, storytelling, friendship, music thanatology, community for caregivers, etc...yet both leaders confirmed that they were still more or less oblivious to what i was talking about...one of them even seemed very NOT-interested.

also met an "ex-christian" lady in the audience whose friend died a month ago...she seemed as unaware of these "arts" as much as the presenters were.

but she told me her story of her friend and her passing, and that she recognized what i was pointing at in spite of it being more-or-less absent from her previous christian doctrine and practice (which sounded a lot like a cousin to pfal/twi)

i suggested she revisit and recontextualize the role of scripture in light of all this...even as a way to heal the wounds of what may simply be a profound misunderstanding...and maybe even redeem the scripture of her life.

Edited March 19, 2010 by sirguessalot

[year2027]

God first

thanks Todd

I wish more people would see the value of dying well

as i think on things I wish i had more answers to life

and putting death where it should be because it only a natural stage

with love and a holy kiss Roy

[year2027]

God first

thanks everybody

THE DYING RANGER

(THE DYING COWBOY)

Sung by: Almeda Riddle

Recorded in Miller, AR, 6/25/53

The sun was sinking in the west,

And it shed its lingering rays

Through the branches of the forest

Where a wounded ranger lay.

Far away from his New England,

'Neath the southern sultry skies,

On the banks of a little river

They lay him down to die.

A group had gathered 'round him-

His comrades in the fight-

A tear rolled down each manly cheek

As they all said good night.

One, a friend and companion,

Was kneeling at his side,

Trying to stop that lifeblood flowing,

But in vain he tried.

Then spoke the dying ranger:

"Oh, Harry, don't weep for me.

I am crossing death's dark river,

But beyond it, I'll be free.

I've a story I must tell you;

Oh, listen closely, do.

I've a story that I wish to tell to all of you.

"Far away in old New England,

In that dear old state,

There's a girl who for my coming

With a saddened heart now waits.

She's a fair young thing, my sister,

My blessing and my pride,

My only love since boyhood;

I've loved no one beside.

"We've no father, for he's sleeping

Beneath the dark blue sea.

We've no mother and no kindred;

There is just Nell and me.

My country was in danger

And called for volunteers;

She put her arms around me,

And her blue eyes runned o'er with tears.

"Saying, 'Go, my precious brother,

Drive the traitors from our shore.

My heart's going to need your presence,

But your country needs you more.'

And now I know I'm dying;

I never will see her more.

Day by day she'll await my coming

At the little cabin door.

"For I have loved her as a brother,

But with a father's care.

I have tried each grief and sorrow

Nell's gentle heart to spare.

Listen, Harry, oh, bend closer;

Oh, listen to my dying prayer.

Who will be to Nell a brother?

Who'll give her a father's care?"

The rangers spoke their vow together;

Like one voice it seemed to fall.

Said, "We'll be to Nell a brother

And a father one and all."

Then one sigh of deepest anguish,

One shadow over him spread.

One deep compulsive shudder,

And the soldier boy was dead.

On the banks of the little river

They laid him down to rest,

With his knapsack for his pillow

And his gun across his breast.

The rangers spoke the vow together;

Like one voice it seemed to fall,

Saying, "Let's be to Nell a brother

And a father one and all."

Also found in Randolph, Vol. II, #188, "The Dying Cowboy"; Belden, p. 397, "The Dying Cowboy."

Next

Folklore associated with dying in the west of Ireland

Sinead Donnelly

West of Scotland Palliative Medicine, Hunters Hill Marie Curie, Springburn, Glasgow

The warm welcome for modern advances in the care of the dying should not exclude the past in which there is much to be learned from the skills of our ancestors.

A bilingual two-year qualitative research project into traditions associated with dying and death was undertaken. Research began in the archives available in the internationally recognized university folklore departments of Ireland and Scotland. This was augmented by 40 indepth personal interviews with Gaelic- and English-speaking residents in rural communities of both countries, recalling local customs and practices in the care of the dying. This paper reports the Irish experience; the collection of data in Scotland continues.

From this study, several main themes emerged. Death was seen and accepted as a natural continuation of life, simply a step into the spirit world. In view of people's oneness with nature and the spiritual world, death was not to be feared. Traditions were unique to each area even down to the precise number of candles used at the sickbed. People understood the signs and symptoms of dying and were skilled in alleviating the distress of both relatives and the dying; and, in this, language was important in capturing and expressing the philosophy of these people. The acceptance of death as the one truism of life was facilitated by the strong faith and prayer of people for whom, in the celebration of death, humour was never far away. In their grief, the community was supported by the loose formality of the wake (torramh), funeral procession, keening (caoineadh) and music. In all these, the men and women of the community and its leaders had distinct and respected roles to play.

Next

Folklore associated with dying in the west of Ireland.

Donnelly S.

The warm welcome for modern advances in the care of the dying should not exclude the past in which there is much to be learned from the skills of our ancestors. A bilingual two-year qualitative research project into traditions associated with dying and death was undertaken. Research began in the archives available in the internationally recognized university folklore departments of Ireland and Scotland. This was augmented by 40 indepth personal interviews with Gaelic- and English-speaking residents in rural communities of both countries, recalling local customs and practices in the care of the dying. This paper reports the Irish experience; the collection of data in Scotland continues. From this study, several main themes emerged. Death was seen and accepted as a natural continuation of life, simply a step into the spirit world. In view of people's oneness with nature and the spiritual world, death was not to be feared. Traditions were unique to each area even down to the precise number of candles used at the sickbed. People understood the signs and symptoms of dying and were skilled in alleviating the distress of both relatives and the dying; and, in this, language was important in capturing and expressing the philosophy of these people. The acceptance of death as the one truism of life was facilitated by the strong faith and prayer of people for whom, in the celebration of death, humour was never far away. In their grief, the community was supported by the loose formality of the wake (torramh), funeral procession, keening (caoineadh) and music. In all these, the men and women of the community and its leaders had distinct and respected roles to play.

Next

DYING GIRL’S MESSAGE

Sung by: Almeda Riddle

Recorded in Heber Springs, AR 9/7/61

Click here to listen to the original recording

Raise the window higher, Mother;

Air can never harm me now.

Let the breeze blow in upon me;

It will cool my fevered brow.

Soon death’s struggle will be over,

Soon be still this aching heart,

But I have a dying message

I would speak before we part.

Lay my head upon your bosom.

Fold me closer, Mother, dear,

While I breathe a name long silent

In my fond and loving ear.

Mother, there is one--you know him--

Oh, I cannot speak his name.

You remember how he sought me,

How with loving words he came.

How he won my young affection,

Vowing in most tender tone,

That he would forever guard me,

Were my heart . . . his alone.

You remember how I trusted,

How my thoughts were all of him.

Draw the curtain higher, Mother,

For the lights are growing dim.

Need now I tell you how I left him;

Coldly he put me aside,

How he wooed and won another,

And now claims her for his bride.

Life has been a weary burden

Since those hours of deepest woe.

Wipe those cold drops from my forehead;

They are death drops, well I know.

Gladly I obey the summons

To a bright and better land,

Where no hearts are won and broken,

But all forms a happy band.

Do not chide him, Mother, darling,

Though you’ll see my form no more.

Think of me as only waiting

For you on the other shore.

Do not chide him, Mother, darling,

Though you’ll miss me from your sight.

I forgive him, and I wish him

Joy with her, his lovely bride.

Take this ring from off my finger,

Where he placed it long ago.

Give it to him with my blessings

That in dying, I bestow.

Tell him that it is a token

Of forgiveness and of peace.

Hark, I hear his voice; it passeth.

Will those echoes never cease?

Hark, I hear footsteps coming.

No, it’s but the rustling leaves.

Strange, how my disordered fancy

Caught his footsteps on the breeze.

I am cold now; close my window.

Oh, hold me closer; kiss me too.

Joy, what means that burst of music?

'Tis my savior's voice, I know.

See Him waiting to receive me!

Oh, what great a bliss to die.

Mother, meet your child in heaven.

One more kiss and now, goodbye.

with love and a holy kiss Roy