I Am Standing Upon The Seashore

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, ‘There, she is gone’

Gone where? Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me — not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, ‘There, she is gone,’
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, ‘Here she comes!’

And that is dying…

OverView

This piece uses the metaphor of a ship sailing over the horizon to explain death. While those left behind see the ship disappear (‘gone’), others on the farther shore are welcoming its arrival (‘here she comes!’). It reframes death as a transition of perspective, not an annihilation.

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More Funeral

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
I cannot say and I will not say
That he is dead, he is just away.
With a cheery smile and a wave of hand
He has wandered into an unknown land;
And left us dreaming how very fair
Its needs must be, since he lingers there.
And you-oh you, who the wildest yearn
From the old-time step and the glad return-
Think of him faring on, as dear
In the love of there, as the love of here
Think of him still the same way, I say;
He is not dead, he is just away.
I built a tiny garden
In a corner of my heart
I kept it just for lovely things
And bade all else depart
And ever was there music
And flowers blossomed fair;
And never was it perfect
Until you entered there
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Feel no guilt in laughter, they’d know how much you care.
Feel no sorrow in a smile that they’re not here to share.
You cannot grieve forever; they would not want you to.
They’d hope that you could carry on the way you always do.
So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared,
The days you spent together, all the happiness you shared.
Let memories surround you, a word someone may say
Will suddenly recapture a time, an hour, a day,
That brings them back as clearly as though they were still here,
And fills you with the feeling that they are always near.
For if you keep those moments, you will never be apart
And they will live forever locked safely within your heart.

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