I said this before in another thread, but I think it deserves a repeat. The other thread led you to a web site where you could view all these ghastly photos of people who had killed themselves; a catalogue, if you will, of dead bodies, each with a description of the mechanism of action.
At first (having been out of the field for a good 20 years), I anticipated being grossed out. No, my stomach ain't as strong for this ca-ca as it once was.
But once I did take a look, I kept flipping through the pages and categories until I remembered what it was like for me in the field.
The fact is, having been exposed to death in one form or another for twelve years, the overriding wonder of it for me was how clear it became (and remained) that without needing an answer of what or why it simply was a fact that the body, in death, was nothing more than a shell whose essence had left it.
It hardly matters where the essence goes, the important thing for me was it's NOT the body, and that, it seems, was enough for me to carry on.
It's not so much the insult of death as it is the wonder that we live at all. Stick with the wonder, it takes you places where death can't disturb you.
