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“Death is a tease.”
“How so?”
“It veers off course many times, surprising us, and then courting us, then offering redemption, only to come about and stab us in the back. But always, always it is fair. And under most circumstances, except our last breath on this world, is fair.”
“Most, not all?”
“Death is not a person; it is a state of mind we create as we nourish each day with our thoughts and actions.”
“So then death is not inevitable?”
The Monk smiled. “Is a wave on the shore inevitable? Is the rise of the sun, the moon?”
“Waves are created by weather patterns. The sun doesn’t rise; the earth rotates, changing its position in its orbit, as does the moon.”
The Monk laughed.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Sherlock.”
“Because it makes no sense.”
The Monk smiled. “That’s because death is just an illusion. There is no such thing as real death, only transition. Otherwise, every tide that swept ashore would be a death, the fall of a moon, the descent of the sun a death, and yet they continue each day as always.”
Holmes considered the words as he and his friend, the Monk, sat on the huge boulder overlooking the mighty Ganges, whose roaring waters surged swiftly below, crashing against the banks and tossing huge waves into the air.
It was a very breezy night and tiny whitecaps kissed the air above the waters as it crested and fell, ever rolling forward and onward to its destination in Delhi, and finally into the Indian Ocean.
“So, if I were to jump into the Ganges now, I would not die unless it was my time?”
“Only a fool would believe that.”
“But what if Death was dancing on the waves below and invited me?”
“Only a fool would dance with Death.”
“But what if Death saved me from drowning; pulled me from the freezing waters and blew fresh breath into my lungs?”
“I would thank Death and then run for my life.”
Holmes laughed.
The Monk smiled. “Tell me the meaning of our discussion. The lesson to be learned?”
“Never take anything for granted. Not even death.”
The moon was full and golden from the sun setting far over the horizon. The clouds were golden fleeced lambs being herded to distant shores where they would flock and graze for others the next day.
Holmes lies down on his back and shut his eyes.
“I think I shall not be afraid of Death, when he or she comes.”
The Monk nodded. “Why be afraid of the destiny we all must face. There is no reason to do so. Not when we know the truth of life. That we are not the body, but pure spirit inhabiting this vehicle. That and only that will free us of all fear.”
“In that case when this vehicle is destroyed, I’ll secure another.”
The Monk and Holmes burst into laughter.
