Rage Against the Dying of the Light

(photo by Tabitha Bird)

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave and close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Though wise me at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightening they

do not go gentle into that good night."

Dylan Thomas 1914-1953

My right in life is not to live, for even the grasses of the fields live and harvests are sewn and grow. My purpose is not to breathe in air, sucking gluttonously at mother nature's breast, for even swine can be found suckling. I am not the beast that grazes by sun and sleeps by moon. Nor the river that loses itself in the ocean. I am not that which washes up with the tide or expires with the orange death of Autumn never to see Spring. 

But do I rage?

I am humanity. Each one beginning with the premise that we are unique. Each one built for more than survival. 

But do I rage?

Never again will there be a 'Me' or a 'You' birthed into this world. Yet there I go, gently, gently. Stepping into each morning with slippered feet and a certainty I was never given. Eating of the fat of my land as if at any moment I might have it all again.

But do I rage?

As the light dies daily over every sea and behind every mountain there exists for each one question. There exists for me. One. Question.

Do I rage?

~

What about you? Well? Do you rage? Will you come to the end of your life knowing that your words have forked no lightening?