A Cup of Tea with Death

I can never just stop... thinking. Unwanted distractions miss ideas, unexpected interruptions, then lose those ideas. My sense of time vanishes, nevermind that I'm always looking at the clock. I watch the seconds tick away as my mind struggles to keep hold of reality. The list of things to be done, the endless phone calls that must be made, the dinner we will have for that very evening. As such, I am unwillingly thrown into a state of paralysis, unable to bypass the feeling of wanting to do everything; yet reduced to doing nothing.

Even as I sleep, my dreams work overtime and more some. They are vivid illusions that are vibrant and visceral, lucid and psychedelic. I remember some, however like most, I forget it all within the first steps of a new day. The ones I do recall come back to me in my consciousness. Recently, one of these illusions unsettled me, altering my self-awareness; my mortality.

I am in a basic white kitchen, with white walls and whiter floors. There is a small round wooden table with two vacant seats slightly ajar from a window lacking sunlight, despite it being the daytime. Before I've even had a chance to examine the room, I am standing by a door I did not open and I am looking out onto the grey street in front of me. There is no one. Except - an oddly familiar cloaked figure that was the tallest of the tall. I could not distinguish a face, a gender, a sex as it appeared they had none. They were just themselves, voiceless and nameless. Our solitary acquaintance, that we never see coming wandering alone. They were... death.

Next thing I know, we are sitting at the table drinking sweet tea. Yes, a cup of tea with death. The conversations we had were spoken in the language of silence, without the utterance of a single syllable. Yet, I knew they understood me, as I did them. There was no judgement with death. Only a concoction of caffeine and relief, topped with an element of fear lingering in the air. They asked me not to call upon them again, and with that they got up and left. I wasn't aware I had called. All I know is that one day they will call back and I will have no choice but to answer.

It is a strange feeling which I cannot let it go. A weird sense of being reborn. Perhaps I stood on the rainbow bridge between life and death without realising, and that is why it won't leave me. All I can say, I have no fear of dying anymore. It's just life. One of which I cannot stop thinking about, because I simply cannot stop thinking.

The world has changed so much in these past few years. The one I grew up in is long gone, and the one my sons will grow in is not one I have much faith in. But can I really just sit back and watch while horrific things pass me by? No. Not when deception is rife, and corruption has poisoned every inch of our world. With a wicked world such as this, we keep death busy, although not very entertained. I'd imagine they are more likely disgusted at humanity's betrayal of itself.

With that in mind, I want to make sure that when that call eventually arrives, and we are having our last cup of tea that we have plenty to discuss. I aim to leave a legacy, doesn't matter how small. One that I hope will be kind and fair, full of love, and sets an example. I want to give death something to smile about because as cliche as it sounds, life is a gift that death keeps forever. I want to be a worthy gift, that they have never received the likes of before. And I want anyone reading this to carry this message with you. It's your life, a worthy life. So have a good one and give death something to look forward to.

Don't be boring. Don't be shy. Don't be cruel and always be kind.

Always do what you think is best for you and the ones you love. Aim for remembrance, not the want of fame.

Sometimes I wish I could just stop thinking...

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