The back of the room was intensely lit--There were no shadows at all; the light came from everywhere. The magnificent hardwood floor was bare; the wood was bright and luminous. The intense brown of the floor contrasted with the white bed, covered in a bright-white sheet. Under the sheet was the body of an old man lying on its back; the head was propped up by a white pillow. The man had white hair; his face was immobile. The contours of his body were visible underneath the sheet; there was no sign of breathing. He was quite old, perhaps more than 90. Whether he was already dead or in a deep coma, at the point of death, I'm not sure. What is certain, though, is that death, if it hadn't already occurred, was both imminent and irreversible.
Except for the bed, there was no furniture of any kind. The room was large; except for the blank wall behind the bed, no walls were visible.
The front of the room was in shadows. In the shadows were two standing figures. One was the dead man's wife, who was thin and old. She was dressed in a blue skirt with matching jacket--the color could be discerned by the observer despite the darkness. Although she remained still, the onlooker knew that it was difficult for her to ambulate. The other figure was the dead man's son. He was in his 50s, with a full head of graying hair.
The two figures were mourning the old man's death, my death. The observer, now full of compassion and love for both of them, focused his attention on the wife, since she was fragile and more visibly upset. The lens of his vision, as it were, zoomed in; for an instant, the observer saw only her. He tried to console the old woman, but she and her son remained completely unaware of his presence. Then the original scene returned. One might best describe it as consciousness observing a tableau. It seemed to last for only a few seconds; it also seemed to last for a long time.
The observer knew, however, that after a period of mourning, both wife and son would be all right.
The division between the light and darkness in the room was a barrier that the two figures couldn't cross--the observer knew this, even though they didn't try.
This being, behind everything in the room, was in a deeper darkness that, paradoxically, was also an all-pervading light.
Although no words were spoken, the onlooker, beyond language, understood the thoughts of the two mourners.
Although he had also underlain the waking consciousness of the old man throughout the latter's life, the observer was now completely detached from that which remained on the bed. He did indeed feel compassion for the two survivors; once quite intensely, but only for a moment. For most of the time, he remained unmoved by what he was witnessing..
This consciousness was everything; thus, in a real sense, there was only one being present. No God, no gods, no angels, no deceased relatives, no nurses, no aides. Just immaterial awareness observing a commonplace event: the death of an old man, mourned by his son and his wife.
Then everything disappeared.
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