Being closer to death seems to be creating a synergy between my body and my awareness of the natural world. This is not uncommon with old people. I had to unfollow Madonna this morning on Instagram because the plastic quality of her face was starting to make me want to wretch. Such a Barbie conspired disaster.

I keep thinking about death. I keep thinking about the connections between the body, consciousness and the microscopic little things that all beings share. Now we all seem to be sharing micrscopic plastic things, plastic microorganisms. What will our body’s ecosystems do with all that?

What is the value of an organic body? What is the value of its’ exhalations? What are the resulting ramifications of inhaling unknown elements? What part of us will use the plastics that we are inhaling, eating, shitting? What parts of my organic self will be released back into the ecosystem of this physical planet to become something else?? What will die? What will transform? Will it? Will microscopic plastic ever become something the body will use to its advantage? Like microbes?

Should I get cremated to release the pure energy to become part of the universe again? Will I remain a pile of ash in an urn? Or should I be buried in the ground somewhere to become the nourishment for a tree, and/or a bush, and/or some other creatures??

I don’t want to be embalmed. I’ve never wanted to be embalmed. Maybe its all those mummy movies, but I think it’s because it smells so awful. But really I am thinking about the forms of the creatures, the structure, the symbols systems, the language that is not language. The language that is visual , visual cues, not necessarily even intelligible, or translate-able or transcribe – able, buy rather absorbed, like through the skin, or through the eyes, or the fingers. Or maybe it’s just because my Mom was cremated a few weeks ago and her urn is resting on a counter in my kitchen. Maybe it’s just that.


2 Comments on “Integrations

  1. Yikes! A little too deep for me this early in the morning. When I was 9 years old, we lived in Lausanne, Switzerland. While we were there, my mom died very suddenly, and I never knew what had become of her remains. I knew she’d been cremated, and the story I was given was that my dad didn’t want to know where she ended up. “Seulement dans mon cœur,” was where he wanted her to be. A few years ago I wanted to find out what had become of her cremated remains. I was a little sad to find out that, apparently, no one really knows. There is a place in Lausanne where they store unclaimed remains. I I never could figure out if there is a process in place for me to try to recover them now, and I don’t know what the purpose of it would be. It was good for me to finally know where she is. But she will always be, for all of us, seulement dans mon cœur.

    • This I never knew. I never knew she died in France. If there is any consolation, my moms ashes are weird and I am not so sure she would want ashes to visit if she were visiting her own mother.

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Val Sivilli
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