Circle of life

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle of Life

Death has a way of sneaking up on you, grabbing you by the balls and forcing to face the undeniable truth: you can't stop time, you can't stop aging, you can't stop the fact that one day you will turn to dust and people will forget you. A horrid truth, something we shove at the back of our head to be able to stay sane, we have a calculated memory loss, how else would we be able to survive the day to day mundane life. Really how? Death can make everything you do seem worthless and empty, trivial to the point of absurdity.
So is forgetting death the only way to lead a "normal life"?
I think there are ways to look at death, ways to experience the death of other people and to contemplate our own, that allow us to feel the value of life without denying the finality of death.
My great sense of comfort comes from my belief in a higher being, in my belief of having a soul, that there is something after my death. I will not die after my heart starts beating, I will simply join the universe and feel a sense of contentment that is divine, a peace that I do not experience anymore. Death is not something to be scared of, to be feared, it is a way of expanding myself to the whole universe. There are far more sufferings in this living world than after it. This is my faith. Is there than a reason to mourn the dead, the people who have attained blissful happiness. Is not my aching for them, when I cry out for them am I not crying for myself. For my wish for them to be with me, to comfort me, for me to comfort them. My own selfish reasons, my longing for their company. But they do not need me, I need them. They have reached the perfect place, a place where their is no misery. They have gone. Gone to another place where honoring their memory does not hold value for them but for our own guilt ridden conscious of how we are living and they are not.

To end this post I leave you with this poem by Mary Frye:
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I have not left.

Disclaimer: I am not sad or depressed. I am not jealous of the dead, it's what I have felt in the past. Death brings an a chasm of unexplainable grief. And it's with time and perspective that I have been able to put words on the pain.