Tag: suicide

Have You Ever Had a Dream Like This? Would it Frighten or Calm You?

mad-worldThe dreams in which I’m dying 
are the best I’ve ever had.
Roland Orzabal, 19883

It may not have been the best dream I have ever had, but considering the subject matter, it was a strangely calm one.

I was in a large building, perhaps a factory, perhaps a school dorm. Somewhere with a large food hall, and a basement as well. Lots of people milling about, all of them relaxed and friendly. I ran into some elementary school companions, they seemed a bit surprised to see me. Apparently, I had blogged that I might not attend the event, yet there I was, a bit short of information but equal in enthusiasm with the others strolling the hallways.

Soon it became clear that we were saying our goodbyes, we were all there to die. Not gruesomely, but peacefully, at some all-encompassing, worldwide event that was to happen at precisely 2:15 a.m. Central Standard Time. The vibe was that of mass suicide, but our deaths would not require any action by any of us. It was all out of our hands. The strangest part-none of us seemed to care. We were just aware of time slipping away, slipping towards the end.

When I awoke the grandfather clock in the hallway was chiming three-quarters of an hour. Remembering the dream, I quietly turned to my bedside clock, taking pains not to rouse Barb beside me in bed, or Cooper in his crate in the next room.  I was relieved to see it was now 3:45. 2:15 had passed without a ripple in the life force.

What brought on a dream in which humanity would quietly slip away in the night? Who can say what feeds our subconscious? But I know that after a day of reading newspapers, watching the TV news, and sitting through the Sunday political shows from Meet the Press to 60 Minutes, I had commented to Barb that we are doomed. If deadly, mutating COVID didn’t get us, then the inevitable violent revolution would.

But in my dream, the world ended with a whimper, not a bang. I’m just hoping it doesn’t end at all.

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What Is The Last Sound You Will Hear?

buffalo billHow do you like your blue eyed boys…

…Mr Death.

Buffalos Bill’s/Defunct   E. E. Cummings

I was listening to the latest Jack Reacher novel this morning when Reacher and his new sidekick encountered an “assisted suicide center.” The Center coupled soft lights, comfortable furniture and piped in music to a fatal dose of Nembutal. No, I am not going to discuss the pros and cons of assisted suicide, though I will remind you that Jack “Dr. Death”  Kevorkian, the notorious euthanasia proponent, was a pathologist. What I started ruminating on was that piped in music. What is the last melody, lyric, or note that I would want to hear as I peacefully drifted into my final rest?

I don’t have a single song that I could call a favorite, any more than I have a favorite play, novel, or movie. Different times/moods/situations all lead to different choices for what I want to  read/watch/listen to.  A sunny vacation day at the beach calls for different tunes than sitting cramped in an airliner with the engines vibrating and my noise cancelling headphones clamped on my head. And while I think “Platoon” is the best war movie I have ever seen, I surely don’t want to be immersed in the jungles of Vietnam every time I want to go to the show. Besides, Barb would never stand for it. That is another thing about favorites. They are meant to be shared.

A favorite should survive multiple exposures. I am not talking about a twenty four hour marathon of “A Christmas Story” or “It’s a Wonderful Life” on Netflix. But sitting through a road show of “Les Miserables,” or catching an episode of “Seinfeld” on the tube, will always be satisfying. I have a harder time convincing myself to reread a favorite book. I would rather dig into an authors newest work than pull out his or her old one, though that strategy doesn’t help me much with John Steinbeck. I loved “East of Eden,” but I doubt I am getting anything new from Mr. S.

I don’t read much poetry, but I do have a favorite poem.  I am not sure how much of “The Wasteland” I really understood when I studied it in college, but I can still recite a stanza or two. And I get a kick out of Cummings’ “Buffalo Bill,” though I can’t say I have much of an opportunity to refer to it in daily conversation.

So what would I want piped in as the Nembutal took me away? The song that immediately comes to my mind is “One.” I just hope those helping  me make the transition get it right. It’s the U2 song, not the one by 3 Dog Night. On my way out I won’t need to be reminded that one is the loneliest number!

What is the last sound you would want to hear? Comment here, or send your thoughts to me at les.raff@post.com. If I get enough contributions, I will print a list in a future blog.

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