Sorry, I’m afraid my vocabulary isn’t so colorful..but Mary Ann, on the part where you said you’d find dead birds around where you lived as a child, I found myself facing a similar situation. I never came across death at an early age, never came across dying of anything other than killing cockroaches and insects. But about a year ago, I couldn’t really understand what made me do the thing I did. While my girlfriend was watering her garden outside the house, I came out and suddenly found a bird getting stuck beneath the hose, it was still alive and it didn’t move. So I called my girlfriend to see what’s going on. The little bird just stood there not moving, but her eyes are still opening and head moving. So an old gardener from the neighbor came by and checked on the little bird, and says maybe she’s sick, because the poor thing wouldn’t fly and won’t walk away. Then after a moment the little bird slowly slumped and fell over. I was shocked and tried to support it, did what I could to put her in a shoe box support with clothes and water, and we drove her to the animal vet.
I don’t know what was going on in my head, but the thoughts weren’t like in logical order, not like a thought process of a computer. But rather, I found myself and my girlfriend just looking at the bird at every moment and anticipating what happens next. I remembered I looked at the bird’s eyes, and wondered if she knew we’re trying to help her. Was she scared? Maybe..Was she conscious? Perhaps, But why was she here? outside the doorstep of my girlfriends house? The little bird passed away in the shoe box while my girlfriend was driving to the clinic. Right before she died, I heard from the shoe box, the little bird calling out twice then her body went still and stiff. The clinic doctor felt sorry, because out of the blue, two strangers walk in with a bird in a box. We never thought of anything else, or maybe how ridiculous we may look to others….all we were trying to do is to save the little bird….then we took her back to my girlfriend’s garden and buried the little bird in the back yard.
Now is there life after death? What happened to that little bird, all of sudden her body went stiff, and her eyes stopped moving? What happened when she wouldn’t move? Where did she go? These questions now still come to me. It might be the precious opportunity that showed up that’s trying to teach me about something…what is it? It felt like a riddle, but it certainly doesn’t feel good at all, when something just dies….you could see it, you could feel it, the differences of life and death. But is death really the end of life itself??? I think maybe this question can relate to Mary Ann’s (yours) childhood fascination with mummies. So I think I’ll just return the question back to her…Mary Ann, could you remember what was going on in your thoughts as a child when you looked at the mummies?