I Choose Death to give me Joy

This symbol is the one I choose to represent the subject matter of my blog post today. This particular symbol represents the many thousands of men, black, white, young, old, Jews and Gentiles that have died as they come to the end of their rope. This rope represents strength as well as the end and you wonder why those that use it for their end did not find the strength to hang on a bit longer , to use the rope as their compass to lead them through the dark tunnel they traverse , all alone,  to the light flickering ever so slightly to refill their battered soul?

The recent death of actor Robin Williams ironically and hypocritically brings the issue to the forefront again. When there are approximately over 700,000 suicides so far this year , it took one man for the Western world to stop and pay hypocritical notice. I have always maintained that the art of suicide is the final act a performer can act on life’s stage. It is his swansong. It is done after his deepest internal soliloquy to an audience that choose not to see his pains or his triumphs. The actor has gone through powerful internal turbulences and sometimes calm. They know they are ready and it will be their personal act they leave for those behind,  that they choose to go to the next scene of their life’s journey without the noise and distractions that accompany  life. Quietly, personally and with supreme confidence they execute and pull on that rope, the rope of strength.  

I respect those actors of suicide. We may see it as shameful, crazy, selfish and even accept it in shock. But just think. The person committing suicide is stronger than all of us. They are in control of their life as they accept that their life is theirs and only theirs. It is not attached to anything or anyone so deemed by a society that lacks openness and love. To them life is as simple as being born and being dead or  being happy or being sad. With all the trappings surrounding life , to them life is just choosing to breath in the stench and live or to exhale and move on. 

Klyde Brooks, noted poet from Jamaica , from the early age of 10 witnessed an actor delivering his final soliloquy. The scene remained with him for years and he wrote a poem on the event. Call it a memoriam, a report or even his vision  it is what it is. I prefer to see it as his inner voice speaking out for the actor that reached the end of his rope, whose voice was never heard but now beautiful expressed representing the beautiful soul that pulled his rope. 

Paul Tomlinson