Conundrum
Waking Point
by Helen Noakes
“Do not go gentle into that good night,/ Old age should burn and rage at close of day;/Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” —Dylan Thomas
SAN FRANCISCO, CA—(Weekly Hubris)—10/25/10—When I first read Thomas’s words, I was in my 20’s. I thought them sound, wise, eloquent. And, although I still find them beautifully written, I question their wisdom.
At this moment in my life, I’m dealing with someone who rages, rails and refuses to accept the inevitability of her good night. Her fury compels her to lash out at those who care for her, thus achieving precisely the opposite of what, I’d like to believe, she truly wishes.
Her behavior turns my thoughts to the question of age and eventual death.
I’m certainly not 20 any more and, rereading Dylan’s words, I find them less than enlightened. They are a useless polemic against the inevitable, but they strike deep at our core because so many of us feel that to “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” somehow restores our power – what little we think we have left in old age.
In fact, I think that aging is a process of increasing power where it really counts—within.
Some years ago, I was watching a program about India and its many religious rituals. While some images of that documentary have stayed with me, the most vivid episode involved an elderly Hindi woman who lived near the Ganges to be close to the river where she will be set afloat after death.
She occupied a spare little room, surrounded by her books, and said that she was rereading all of her favorites, hoping to have read them all before her time came. But, she remarked ruefully, her eyes were failing. After a short pause, she sighed and commented that perhaps nature was wise, for before we die what we really need are our inner eyes in order to plumb the depths of what truly matters.
A Buddhist friend perceives death as a simple transition from one state of being to another. He believes in reincarnation—thousands do, of course, including the Dalai Lama. The idea of being reborn, I suppose, takes the edge off dying.
I hope that when my time comes I’ll have just a little of the wisdom and grace of that Hindi woman, and the acceptance of my Buddhist friend.
When Thomas says “gently,” does he mean peacefully? If so, wouldn’t that be the preferred way to end one’s life, at peace with oneself, with the cycle of living and dying?
Mr. Thomas, I still enjoy the words that came from your melancholy Welsh soul, but I beg to differ on your philosophy of death. I’ll rage against the greedy, against those who hold sway over our finances and our politics but, as for my “good night,” I hope that I’ll lay my head down quietly, thank God for all of His many blessings, and allow myself to slip into oblivion.
Or will I?
Helen Noakes
Helen Noakes is a playwright, novelist, writer, art historian, linguist, and Traditional Reiki Master, who was brought up in and derives richness from several of the world’s great traditions and philosophies. She believes that writing should engage and entertain, but also inform and inspire. She also believes that because the human race expresses itself in words, it is words, in the end, that will show us how very similar we are and how foolish it is to think otherwise. (Author Head Shot Augment: René Laanen.)