A child once asked me if I was afraid to die, to which I responded, "Yes, I sometimes am." The truth is the awareness of my own mortality has been something of a cold obsession of mine since a very early age. These feelings are noted in my song Seven, in which I recall my initial realization that I, eventually, would die. I was seven years old.

Later in life the obsession became so desperate, I was completely debilitated by it at times. The ticking of a clock, or the sound of my own heartbeat was too much to bear and would drive me mad in the night. I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding through my chest, completely gripped with fear.

It took years of searching, and a lot of looking around inside myself to be able to conquer this fear, this mortal dread. It wasn't any one thing that helped, but eventually I began to see death in another light. Now if a child were to ask me my views on death I would know what to say...

To the east of me there is a large mountain, the largest I've seen in a great while. The mountain is monstrous and covered in snow. I can see this mountain from most anywhere I go, its size is so great. But for all the majesty this mountain holds, in all its awesomeness, the mountain can really only do two things: the mountain can exist, or not exist. One might say the mountain can have an avalanche, but that would be like defining our bodies by the shedding of our skin cells. No, the mountain, at its core, can only be or not be. But how do I know this mountain really exists at all? I have never been there, never touched it with my own hands. I simply accept that it is there because I can see it. I account for, in life, the things that I can see. But I can't always see the mountain, can I? At nighttime the mountain is gone, for all I know it ceases to exist, for I can only account for what I can see. Logic tells me that of course the mountain is still there, it is just too dark to see it. But this is rationalizing the subject because of the need, in our Western culture, to have reason and logic trump all. But I cannot really know, for sure, that the mountain is still there, so I have to believe it. I have to believe in the logic that is taught to me.

The mountain in this story, of course, represents a being. The being's life is spent in the span of daylight, but simply because the being does not appear to exist after the light has gone from it, does not mean the being ceases to exist at all. Whatever the being is at nighttime (or after death) is no less "there" than what we see in the daytime (life). A simple analogy, but one that helps my ever-rational mind to understand my existence better; helps me to no longer suffer at the unanswerable questions of what lies beyond.

Another great way to look at the analogy of life is in a raincloud. In a raincloud all the water is together, merged, in a different form. When the time has come, the water turns to rain and falls down its path in the form of individual droplets. The drops fall down to earth where they splash onto the ground, ceasing to be a drop, but merging again with other drops to become a puddle. There they wait until they are evaporated and again join the raincloud in the form they were before they became rain.

Here the raindrops are the beings. At first we are something else, we are all the same thing (the raincloud), then we are born (raindrops), we live our lives (the fall to earth), and we reach the end (splashing to the ground), our bodies decompose into the earth (become puddles), and then we rejoin the whole (evaporate).

These are but simple comparisons, which cannot be viewed as flawless from every facet, for life is not simple, but very complex indeed. I do feel, however, that comparisons like the ones I have made are necessary in a world where you can either "believe" or "know" but little else. The age old battle of religion versus science is a tiresome game which does little more than confuse those who do not cling to one or the other with all their might. We have a hard time, in this country, understanding our nature through the scope that our Western way of thinking presents. I invite all who read this to develop their own comparisons of life as can be found anywhere around us. For we are all made from the same material, we all function in the same way, only on different scales.