Perhaps passing through the gates of death
is like passing quietly through the gate
in a pasture fence. On the other side,
you keep walking, without the need to
look back. No shock, no drama, just the
lifting of a plank or two in a simple
wooden gate in a clearing.
Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices, but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
If a donkey kicks you and you kick back, you are both donkeys.
“I don’t do romance, in the same way I don’t do heroin Russian roulette, or nude alligator wrestling. I consider all of the above self-destructive, and demeaning and these are things up with which I will not put.”
― D.D. Barant, Dying Bites