October 25, 2003 02:27 PM

I made a new friend today . . .

Death.

Death has been an annoying constant in my existence lately. My dad died of sudden lung cancer about three and a half years ago. Then his mother died . . . a combination of age, disease, and sadness. Then an uncle-in-law died of a heart-attack right after Christmas last year. Most recently . . . just a few weeks ago . . . my uncle's mother died after a long round of suffering from the "frailties that flesh is heir to."

The men in my family seem not to live very long. My dad and my mom's dad died in their mid-fifties. My dad's dad died in his early sixties. It struck me recently - I don't quite know why - that if I follow suit, I actually passed "middle-age" a few years ago. At 32, I may be rapidly approaching the mile-marker of my life that says "Two-thirds done!"

Not that I plan to follow in the footsteps of my immediate gentic forbears. But still . . . sobering thought.

One of the advantages of being psychic is that concepts like Death don't have to be impersonal and coldly abstract. Like people have always done up until a few hundred years ago, I am capable of seeing Death as a person, as an individual.

And I decided today that's it's time to stop ignoring Death and wishing he would just go away. I sat down and told Death I was ready to have a chat.

At first, he looked like a big, scary blue ogre. He was violent and destructive, and it scared me to look at him.

But I kept looking, and I saw a certain twirl in the energy, a certain static-electricity blur . . . the spiritual signature of dishonesty, of a lie.

I said, "Oh, Death. You're such a victim of peer pressure. You look big and scary because that's how people expect you to look. But that's not how you really are, is it?"

Death was kind of surprised. I think it's been a while since anyone called him on the carpet like that. And then he changed.

First he changed into a beautiful black-haired woman (because I've been reading Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics, and in that series, that's how Death looks).

But then Death said, "Actually I'm not really male or female. I'm pretty androgynous." And then s/he settled into the form of a little elf with a sort of green glowing aura.

"You're like . . . you're like a leprechaun!" I said.

Death laughed. "I can be as big as I need to be. But I'm more powerful small. It's easier to be sneaky that way . . . to catch people when they're not looking."

We talked for a while. Turns out that Death is a fairly personable creature. Upbeat, good conversationalist. Slightly twisted sense of humor, but, you know, I'm down with that.

And Death is a pretty straight shooter. I asked about my own death, and Death said, "I'm brewing inside you right now. In certain genes you inherited. In a couple abnormal cells that are already replicating themselves. In tissues just starting to go rotten deep within you."

I told Death I didn't like that. "Don't get me wrong," I said. "I think you're pretty cool. It's nice getting to know you. You're a good guy." (I used masculine pronouns for convenience.) "But I don't like the fact that you're inside me."

Death then started to draw itself out of me . . . out of my heart, out of my bloodstream, out of my intestines and bones. His hands were like vaccum cleaners, sucking death out of my body. And he gathered up all the death he pulled out of me, and he put it in a sack.

"Look," he said. "It's been nice talking to you. No one really bothers to even say hi to me these days. I don't have many friends. Which I don't understand, because you know, I can give life if I want to! What is life, but the absence of me?"

Death laughed at its own joke.

"Let's make a deal," Death said. "Let's talk again soon. Let's be buds. And I'll keep my hands off until you're ready to go."

"Sounds good to me!"

I shook hands with Death. He picked up his sack and walked away.

"Hey," I called after him. "Just out of curiosity, what are you going to do with all the death in that sack?"

"Well," he said, "everyone has their own share of death. If you don't want yours . . . I know plenty of people who are looking for more than they were given."

Not quite sure what Death meant by that.

I'll have to ask next time we talk.

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