Jon RappoportTime for a break from the Ebola hoax. Let’s discuss something more pleasant: death.
As time passes, I begin to see things in advance. For example, people will die. People I know and people my friends and family know.
It’s not unexpected. Every human has a tendency to die, eventually, for one reason or another. It may be ill-conceived, but there it is.
People go away. They take off. Maybe they come back, but that’s another issue.
Point is, with each death there are details to manage. Suits and ties, socks and shoes (not old sneakers), funerals, wakes, grotesque plane flights, conversations. You see people you haven’t seen in a long time—you didn’t want to see them. You’ve forgotten their names.
“Oh hi, Bill, didn’t you go to school with my brother? No? You’re Frank? You gave my cousin Lulu a kidney in 1961? Good for you. So how’s life in Fairbanks? You live in Havana? Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. I train clowns for circuses in Hungary when I’m not publishing the New York Times.”
There are impromptu gatherings, at which you’re supposed to remember the deceased person fondly and count up his contributions to society and perhaps even his role in the cosmic scheme of things.
“Marmaduke, I feel, was godlike. Without him, I fear the universe is in danger of imminent collapse.”
Six weeks later, just as the Marmaduke post-death episode is winding down, Frederico, your husband’s ex-partner in a stock-fraud enterprise, falls out of a window and buys The Big One, and the whole charade begins all over again.
There is no end to this.
So I’m suggesting the whole planet designate one day a year as Death Day.
On that day, everybody mourns for everybody who has died, is dying, and will die.
Perhaps a slow day in February, after the Super Bowl. February 22nd. Death Day.
On the 22nd, the world stays home from work. There are wakes and grievings and parties in every home. Mortuaries and cemeteries go on full alert, displaying symbolic caskets, digging random graves; limo services send out columns of slow-moving black cars. Flags fly at half-mast.
Tears flow. Conversations erupt. Condolences are uttered.
And then…for the rest of the year, there are no remembrances.
The dead have departed. Depending on what you believe, they’ve gone somewhere or nowhere. They’re out of the equation.
“Josiah died last night. We’ll remember him on the 22nd. What were you saying about that recipe for gooseberry omelets?”
“The Pope croaked? I’m sure my nephew will light a candle on the 22nd. Get your coat, we’re late for supper.”
“Uncle Sylvester finally died after 13 years in that nursing home. See you on Feb 22. Did you notice my cell phone? I was sure I left it in the crock pot on the stove.”
Of course, there are deaths you never forget. But you don’t need plane tickets and taxis and hotels and cousins to remember them. You have those few people in your heart forever.
The endless funerals of the others do nothing for you. They’re just one more way society tries to get in the way with its mindless rituals.
The sob-story culture is expanding as never before. It’s based on cheapening human life.
With my plan, here’s what will happen. Gradually, people will begin to realize that February 22 is just another shuck and jive, and they’ll defect from it. They’ll remember who they want to remember.
Which is the whole point.
Society is a system that tells you what to feel and how and when. That’s the bigger picture. Society is a collective coward. It can’t face the fact that individuals are different.
If it did face it, culture as we know it would collapse.
That’s a thing to look forward to. I do.
We need a special day for that. The Day of Anticipating the Collapse of This Frightened Culture.
Sign me up for that one. I’ll be there.
I’ll be grinning and talking. The conversations will be interesting.
No groups allowed. Just people, one by one.
No more living death.
Jon Rappoport
The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails atNoMoreFakeNews.com.
http://jonrappoport.wordpress.com/2014/11/04/lets-have-a-death-day-for-everybody-all-at-once/