A Peaceful Death

    Into the ocean we fell, three or more comrades, blasted from a ship in some war, or natural disaster.  We knew our lives were over, we resigned ourselves to the end.  No struggle, no pain, only acceptance, a mutual acknowledgment of the inevitable.  Yet together we were stronger in death than we would have otherwise been.  Dying with others is less scary that way; it's as if the shared experience purifies it, attaches your soul to others for eternity.  We left with no regrets, no anger, no fear that we would not live on.  Our lives felt complete, as if we'd left no business unfinished, no stone unturned.  Weak as we were, the strength of death infiltrated our bones as we closed our eyes, drifting in the shallow light, darkened underworld reaching to catch us.  La petite fille de la mer, ejected from the mantle of the material, misty corridor through which surrender evaporates, shaded enigma where the scaled ribbons of light undulate.  As the light went out, we spoke to each other, that this is the end, that all is ok.  Nothing left to achieve, nothing left to say, nothing left to do but let the universe dissolve our ashes while preserving our souls.  It is not as terrifying as it seems, for even if we are alone, others are waiting.  All the ones who passed before us.  They say welcome, brother.