It is Samhain, this eve.
The dead walk, mists are thick in the woods.
Tonight, we face what is hidden in day’s rays,
when floods of photons
white out the shades.
In the day, it is obvious:
Right is might.
On this Eve, the dead return
They whisper in the wind
“Believe what you know,
not what you are told.
Answers you are given
are not the truth you need.”
At age eleven, I confronted suicide. I desperately craved escape. I took the sharpest of my mother’s kitchen knives, the longest thinnest one. Standing in the middle of the room with my eyes closed, I held the knife with its point aimed precisely at my heart. I intended surrender, to fall forward onto the knife and let gravity end me. I could have done it. I would have. But in that moment, eyes closed, I saw, experienced something that permanently immunized me against suicide.
In crystal clarity, I was shown that death does not, can not result in oblivion. Consciousness has existed from the beginning. There is no escape from yourself. I saw that if I followed through with my intention to take my life, my awareness would be trapped in loops of horror, reliving all the most shameful moments of my life, without end, until I managed to find a way to be born, and then I’d have to go through it all again. Only worse.
That vision filled me with a horror I can’t begin to express. Since then, no matter how much despair I felt, suicide has not been an option. Nothing I went through could be worse than the consequences of death by my own hand.
When I am in crisis, in shame and pain that seems beyond bearing, I stay the course. I breathe, cry, reach for help. I do what I must. I live through it. When it passes (it does!), I am alive to enjoy it. And I grow, so when I ever do go, it may be with an open heart and a mind free of regret.