"If there wasn't death," mused the poet Stevie Smith, "I think you couldn't go on."
The poet neatly captures the ambivalence that mortals must have towards the grim reaper. Death might be said to make us. It heightens love by bringing loss. It deepens beauty by fomenting decay. It focuses life by providing an end. It transforms our imaginations and desires by making us the death-aware animal, a perhaps unique creature in nature. But it does all this only by breaking us.
Read Full Article »