I want to die at sunset. I want to watch the sky change and turn orange and pink and purple as day dies into night. I want to hear the wind fluttering through the leaves and smell very faintly, nag champa amber incense, but very faintly, because scent can be tough on a dying body. I want to die with socks on my feet because I get cold. And if I die with a bra on, I'm coming to haunt everybody.
Želim da umrem u zalazak sunca. Želim da posmatram kako se nebo menja i postaje narandžasto, roze i ljubičasto kako dan zamire u noć. Želim da čujem vetar kako leprša kroz lišće i da osetim skroz blag miris ćilibarskog tamjana nag čampa, ali skroz blago jer miris može da bude težak za telo na umoru. Želim da umrem sa čarapama na stopalima jer sam zimomorna. A ako umrem noseći brusthalter, vratiću se da vas sve progonim.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I will terrorize you and that is a threat, OK?
Maltretiraću vas i ovo je pretnja, u redu?
I want to die in my own bed, at my own home, with my loved ones nearby who are talking amongst themselves and comforting each other for this very big thing that's about to happen in their lives. I want to die with all my affairs in order so my loved ones have nothing to worry about but their grief after I die. I want to die empty, devoid of all of the skill, gift, talent and light that I carry in this body and satiated, full of the richness of this one unique human ride. And when my loved ones notice that I have released my last breath, I want them to clap. I want them to clap because I died well, but I died well only because I lived well.
Želim da umrem u svom krevetu, u svojoj kući, sa voljenima u blizini koji razgovaraju među sobom i teše jedni druge zbog ove ogromne stvari koja će im se desiti u životu. Želim da umrem sa svim poslovima završenim kako moji voljeni ne bi imali oko čega da brinu, osim o svojoj žalosti kad umrem. Želim da umrem prazna, lišena svih veština, nadarenosti, talenta i svetlosti koju nosim u ovom telu i zasićena, ispunjena obiljem ovog jedinstvenog ljudskog putovanja. A kada moji voljeni primete da sam ispustila poslednji dah, želim da aplaudiraju. Želim da aplaudiraju jer sam umrla dobro, ali sam umrla dobro samo zato što sam živela dobro.
Now, will it happen this way? Probably not. Realistically, I mean, even with all this rah-rah death talk I talk, I'm probably going to go kicking and screaming.
Sad, da li će se ovako desiti? Verovatno ne. U stvarnosti, mislim, uz svu ovu lepršavu priču o smrti koju pričam, verovatno ću otići otimajući se i vrišteći.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Unless we choose, the date, place, manner and time of our death will remain a mystery. Then why think about it at all? Death creates context for our lives. My entire life is leading up until that point. How we die creates the period at the end of the sentence, but it is the period that makes it a sentence at all.
Ukoliko se ne radi o izboru, datum, mesto, način i vreme naše smrti ostaće misterija. Onda zašto uopšte i razmišljati o tome? Smrt stvara kontekst za naše živote. Moj celokupni život vodi do te tačke. Način na koji umiremo stvara tačku na kraju rečenice, ali upravo je ta tačka ono što je uopšte i čini rečenicom.
Imagine for a moment your 847th birthday. OK, try. I mean, you're probably pushing 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 in this room. Imagine 847 of them. So you’re sitting there and your body is raggedy. Because unless they cure aging, I promise you, you do not want to be immortal. I promise, you're going to be begging for death. So it's your 847th birthday. Here they come with a cake. No candles on it, because it would burn the house down. And now here they come, singing that same tired song. "Happy birthday to you," you would be so over it. And if it was a Stevie Wonder version, that song is already 45 minutes long, you'd be extra over it.
Zamislite za trenutak vaš 847. rođendan. U redu, pokušajte. Mislim, u ovoj prostoriji verovatno gurate 30, 40, 50, 60, 70. Zamislite njih 847. Sedite tu i telo vam je oronulo. Jer ukoliko ne izleče starenje, obećavam vam, ne želite da budete besmrtni. Obećavam vam, preklinjaćete za smrt. Dakle, 847. vam je rođendan. Dolaze sa tortom. Nema svećica na njoj jer bi spalile kuću. I eto ih kako dolaze, pevajući istu izanđalu pesmu. „Srećan rođendan”, bilo bi vam je tako preko glave. A ako je verzija Stivija Vondera, ta pesma je već 45 minuta duga, još više bi vam je bilo preko glave.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Nobody wants that. We count birthdays now because they're finite. They're special. They mark the passage of time, and one day, we won't have any more time. And I find that to be a really useful fact. I think it's healthy for us to think about our death.
Niko to ne želi. Trenutno brojimo rođendane jer su konačni. Posebni su. Označavaju protok vremena, a jednog dana nećemo imati više vremena. I za mene je to zaista korisna činjenica. Smatram da je zdravo za nas da razmišljamo o našoj smrti.
And you might say, of course I do, because I'm a death doula. I wanted us to embrace thinking about our mortality. I spend a lot of time thinking about, talking about, helping people prepare and teaching death doulas. Death doulas offer non-medical and holistic care for the dying person, the circle of support and the community through the process.
I mogli biste reći, naravno da je tako jer sam dula smrti. Želela bih da prigrlimo razmišljanje o našoj smrtnosti. Provodim mnogo vremena razmišljajući, govoreći, pomažući ljudima da se pripreme i podučavajući dule smrti. Dule smrti pružaju nemedicinsku i holističku negu osobi na samrti, krug podrške i zajednicu tokom procesa.
I want to acknowledge first what a privilege it is for people to be able to know about and afford and hire a death doula. We're working on it. And next, what a privilege it is for me to even be able to imagine my own death. It says that I have a sense of safety. My basic bodily needs are met. And I have safety in my body, my mind and in my life, even despite the skin I wear.
Želim prvenstveno da priznam kolika je privilegija za ljude da znaju za dule smrti i da mogu da ih priušte. Radimo na tome. A potom, kolika je privilegija za mene da mogu da zamislim sopstvenu smrt. To mi govori da imam osećaj sigurnosti. Moje osnovne telesne potrebe su ispunjene. I osećam se sigurno u mom telu, umu i životu, uprkos koži koju nosim.
That wasn't always the case. I came to this work by serendipity, by circumstance, but mostly by necessity. A little over ten years ago, I was practicing law at the Legal Aid Foundation of Los Angeles, and I grew depressed. Not like, "Oh my God, I'm so depressed," but like, for real depressed, like, "can't get out of bed" depressed, "can't shower" depressed, can't find hope, "can find a smile, but can't really find joy," type of depressed. I took a medical leave of absence, so I went to Cuba, and I met a woman there, a fellow traveler on the bus, who had uterine cancer. We spent the 14-hour bus ride talking about her life and also her death. And it was a highly illuminating conversation. I heard firsthand how hard it was for her to even be able to talk about her fears around mortality and her disease because people censored their own discomfort with mortality rather than make space for her. I took the invitation, however, to think about my mortality and looked at my life from the perspective of my death for the very first time. And it was grim, I did not like what I saw. I noticed then that I had to live life on my own terms because I was the only one who was going to have to contend with all the choices that I'd made at my death.
Nije uvek bilo tako. Slučajno sam se zatekla u ovom poslu, sticajem okolnosti, ali uglavnom iz nužde. Pre nešto više od deset godina, bavila sam se pravom u losanđeleskoj Fondaciji za pravnu pomoć, i postala sam depresivna. Ne kao: „O, gospode, kako sam depresivna”, već kao za prave depresivna, kao „ne mogu ustati iz kreveta” depresivna, „ne mogu se istuširati” depresivna, ne mogu naći nadu, „mogu da se nasmejem, ali ne mogu da nađem užitak”, tip depresije. Uzela sam bolovanje i otišla na Kubu, i tu sam upoznala ženu, saputnicu u autobusu koja je imala rak materice. Proveli smo 14-časovnu vožnju autobusom razgovarajući o njenom životu kao i smrti. I to je bio krajnje prosvetljujući razgovor. Čula sam iz prve ruke koliko joj je teško da uopšte govori o svojim strahovima u vezi sa smrtnošću i bolešću jer su ljudi cenzurisali sopstvenu nelagodu u vezi sa smrtnošću, umesto da naprave mesta za nju. Prihvatila sam, međutim, pozivnicu da razmislim o sopstvenoj smrtnosti i osvrnula sam se prvi put na sopstveni život iz perspektive moje smrti. I bilo je mračno, nije mi se svidelo ono šta sam videla. Tada sam primetila da moram da živim na svoj način jer jedino ja ću morati na samrti da se nosim sa svim izborima koje sam napravila.
Not long after I came back from Cuba, my brother-in-law, Peter Saint John, became ill. And not too long after that, they couldn't cure him anymore. So I went to New York, where he and my sister and my niece were, and along with Peter's family and my family and his friends, we ushered him to the end of his life.
Nedugo nakon što sam se vratila sa Kube, moj zet Piter Sent Džon se razboleo. I ubrzo nakon toga nisu ga više mogli lečiti. Pa sam otišla u Njujork, gde su bili on, moja sestra i sestričina, i zajedno sa Piterovom porodicom, mojom porodicom i njegovim prijateljima, ispratili smo ga do kraja njegovog života.
Being present for Peter's death is one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given. Not only did I get to care for somebody who I loved so dearly, but it also grew my capacity for compassion. I knew, intellectually, that there were thousands of other people that were walking through the same thing at the same time. And it also hinted at the things that I've been talking about in Cuba. Everybody was uncomfortable with the fact that he was going to die, even the medical care team. I knew that there should be somebody, somebody who was there, somebody who could be with us to walk alongside us. Somebody who could listen to us, offer resources, hold our hands, hold our hearts, bear witness to our pain, help us sort through information, tell us that we were doing the best that we could with the worst that we were dealt. But I couldn't find anybody. So I became that someone for other people.
Prisustvovanje Piterovoj smrti je jedan od najvećih darova koji mi je ikad udeljen. Ne samo da sam bila u prilici da brinem za nekog koga sam toliko volela, već mi je to povećalo sposobnost za saosećajnost. Znala sam intelektualno da na hiljade drugih ljudi prolazi kroz isto što i mi istovremeno. A takođe me podsećalo na stvari iz Kube o kojima sam govorila. Svima je bila nelagodna činjenica da će da umre, čak i medicinskom timu. Znala sam da bi morao da postoji neko, neko ko bi bio tu, ko bi bio uz nas ko bi hodao uz nas. Neko ko bi nas slušao, pružio resurse, držao nas za ruke, džao naša srca, svedočio našem bolu, pomogao nam da se snađemo u informacijama, rekao nam da radimo najbolje što možemo sa najgorim što nam je dodeljeno. Međutim, nisam mogla da nađem nikoga. Stoga sam ja postala taj neko za druge ljude.
I sit deep in the trench with folks as they prepare for death. There's no fixing or saving anything because there's no fixing or saving grief or death. It just is, I meet people where they are at. My goal is to help them answer the question: "What must I do to be at peace with myself so that I may live presently and die gracefully, holding both at the same time?"
Sedim duboko u rovovima sa ljudima dok se pripremaju za smrt. Nema popravljanja ili spašavanja bilo čega jer se tuga i smrt ne popravljaju, niti spašavaju. Prosto jesu, i ja susrećem ljude tu gde jesu. Cilj mi je da im pomognem da odgovore na pitanje: „Šta moramo da uradimo da bismo bili u miru sa sobom kako bismo živeli u trenutku i umrli dostojanstveno, ovladavši oboma istovremeno?”
When I'm thinking about my present life from the vantage point of my graceful death, I can see very clearly who I want to be, how I want to spend my time and what of me I'll leave behind. It allows me to consciously curate my life right now and also figure out my little "whys" right now. Because what are we waiting for, anyway? Like, death?
Kada razmišljam o trenutnom životu sa tačke gledišta moje dostojanstvene smrti, mogu jasno da vidim ko želim da budem, kako želim da provodim vreme i šta ću od sebe da ostavim za sobom. Omogućuje mi da svesno uređujem moj život trenutno i da trentuno otkrivam moja sićušna „zašto”. Jer šta uopšte čekamo? Možda smrt?
I used to think dying people had it all figured out, though. I used to think that they'd lay there with their hands like this because we all know this is like, universal dying person pose. So they'd lay there with their hands like this, and there'd be a little glimmer in their eye, they'd be like, "Oh, yes, finally, it all makes sense." Turns out it's not like that at all, it doesn't look like that. Hollywood has lied to us, we know that already. Cinderella was unconscionable, but this is just flagrant. It's not like that at all. It's way too much work to be doing while you're dying. So it doesn't look like that, there's no secret, there's nothing magically you'll find out then. This is it, there's nothing to figure out, no big secret at all. Many of my clients also reached the end of their lives wishing that they had more time. But I'm always curious, more time for what? What else would they do with the time that they had? It's rarely to go see Machu Picchu, OK, I'll tell you that.
Nekad sam pak mislila da je ljudima na samrti sve jasno. Nekad sam mislila da leže tako sa rukama ovako jer svi znamo da je ovo univerzalna poza ljudi na samrti. Dakle, leže tako sa rukama ovako, i tu je maleni sjaj u njihovom oku, i oni su u fazonu: „Oh, da, konačno sve ima smisla.” Ispostavlja se da uopšte nije tako, ne izgleda tako. Holivud nas je lagao, to nam je već poznato. Pepeljuga je bila nesavesna, ali to je prosto očigledno. Uopšte nije tako. Previše je to posla za vas dok umirete. Te ne izgleda tako, nema tajne, nema nikakve čarolije koju ćete tada da otkrijete. Ovo je sve, nema šta da se otkrije, nikakve velike tajne. Mnogi moji klijenti su dosegli kraj svog života žaleći što nemaju još vremena. Uvek me pak interesuje više vremena za šta? Šta bi još uradili sa vremenom koje su imali? Retko je to poseta Maču Pikču, u redu, to ću vam reći.
Can I tell you a story? OK, so this client is a composite, very many clients shoved together because as juicy as their stories are, it's not my responsibility or job to tell them. So this is many clients together, and I find that it's an easy composite to make because it's universally applicable. This applies whether or not somebody has worked their entire life or sits on a big trust fund or works three jobs to keep the lights on. You might find bits of yourself in this story. This client is somebody who had a decent amount of privilege, but not without adversity, of course, because she's human. She had a great job, great career, had been a real trailblazer. Kids who she loved, who she was proud of, good friends, traveled a bunch, did a bunch of great things in her life, had plenty of romance and love. She was doing OK. The girl who had everything.
Mogu li da vam ispričam priču? U redu, ovaj klijent je kompilacija, mnogo klijenata natrpanih zajedno jer koliko god da su im sočne priče, nije moja odgovornost, niti posao da ih pričam. Dakle, ovo je mnogo klijenata ujedno, i smatram da se radi o lakoj kompilaciji jer je univerzalno primenjiva. Ovo je primenjivo bilo da je neko radio ceo svoj život, sedi na velikom povereničkom fondu ili radi tri posla kako bi platio račune. Možda otkrijete deliće sebe u ovoj priči. Ovaj klijent je neko ko je bio solidno privilegovan, ali ne bez nedaća, naravno, jer je ljudsko biće. Imala je sjajan posao, sjajnu karijeru, bila je istinska trendseterka. Decu koju je volela, na koje je bila ponosna, dobre prijatelje, putovala je podosta, uradila je gomilu sjajnih stvari u životu, imala mnoštvo romansi i ljubavi. Išlo joj je fino. Devojka koja je imala sve.
And then came a plot twist. That plot twist was an aggressive bone cancer that was likely going to kill her. And with that plot twist came a sense of pointlessness to her life. She couldn’t figure out what she’d been doing for the past 60-odd years because she'd been so busy doing. While she was healthy, it was about the next career milestone or what's happening with the kids next or the next trip. When she was sick, more of the same. Next doctor's appointment, next scan, next medication. She was so busy distracting herself from like, the difficulty that she found in her life, staying out of her body so that she didn't have to be present with what was going on. It was always out there, she was always looking out there. But death was coming to remind her that she had no more "out theres." That it was always only right here, where there is nothing at all to do but simply to be.
A onda je usledio preokret. Preokret je bio agresivni rak kostiju sa izgledima da će je ubiti. A sa tim preokretom stigao je i osećaj besmisla u njen život. Nije mogla da razume šta je radila poslednjih šezdesetak godina jer je bila toliko zaokupljena radom. Dok je bila zdrava, sve se svodilo na novi karijerni cilj ili šta se sledeće dešava s decom ili na novo putovanje. Kada se razbolela, otprilike isto. Sledeći pregled kod doktora, sledeći snimak, sledeći lek. Toliko je bila zauzeta odvlačenjem sopstvene pažnje od poteškoća koje je zatekla u životu, postojeći van svog tela kako ne bi morala da prisustvuje svemu što se dešavalo. Uvek je postojalo tamo negde, uvek je gledala tamo negde. Međutim, smrt je dolazila da je podseti da nema više „tamo negde”. Da je oduvek samo postojalo ovo ovde gde nema ama baš ništa da se uradi, osim da se prosto bude.
We zoomed out on her life to look at what she enjoyed, to see where she placed value, because from there we can figure out where we place meaning. And it turns out it wasn't about the kids or the work or the money. It was about the little things. Her hands in the soil. Her garden. Building a fire, reading books and food. She loved to eat, but she had dieted most of her adult life. The sound at all familiar to anybody? OK, if it does, this is for you, OK? If you take nothing away, hear this: you are going to die, so please eat the cake. Eat the cake, order the dessert, eat the french fries, eat the brownies. Eat everything you want to, just eat it, because you're going to die. One day, you won't be able to anymore.
Odzumirali smo njen život da bismo uvideli u čemu je uživala, da bismo videli čemu je pridavala važnost jer odatle možemo da shvatimo gde da smestimo značenje. I ispostavilo se da se nije radilo o deci, poslu ili novcu. Radilo se o sitnicama. Njene ruke u zemlji. Njena bašta. Loženje vatre, čitanje knjiga i hrana. Volela je da jede, ali je bila na dijetama veći deo svog odraslog života. Da li ovo ikome zvuči imalo poznato? U redu, ako zvuči, ovo je za vas, važi? Ako ništa drugo, poslušajte ovo: umrećete, zato, molim vas, pojedite tortu. Pojedite tortu, poručite desert, pojedite pomfrit, pojedite čokoladni kolač. Jedite sve što poželite, samo to pojedite jer ćete da umrete. Jednoga dana to više nećete biti u stanju.
At this point in her disease process, chemotherapy had ravaged her taste buds, so she had to rely on her sense of smell to get pleasure out of eating. And she ate. She did it as much as she could because she knew she wouldn't be able to for much longer. She ate as much as cancer would allow, and when her body could no longer process food, we placed her favorite passion fruit soufflé right on her lip, and she would lick it and smile. She lived more in the last eight months or so of her life with the help of hospice than she had before. She was finally present, at home in her body, delighting in the richness of the sensory experience we have by virtue of these fantastical bodies that we will die in. These bodies that we will die in.
U ovoj tački njene etape bolesti, hemoterapija joj je razorila čulo ukusa, pa se morala oslanjati na čulo mirisa da bi osetila užitak od hrane. I jela je. Radila je to koliko je mogla jer je znala da neće biti u stanju još dugo. Jela je onoliko koliko joj je rak dozvoljavao, a kada njeno telo više nije moglo da vari hranu, stavljali bismo njen omiljeni sufle od marakuje na njenu usnu i ona bi ga liznula i nasmešila se. Više je živela poslednjih oko osam meseci života uz stručnu medicinsku pomoć nego ikad pre. Konačno je bila prisutna, kod kuće u svom telu, gosteći se obiljem čulnih iskustava koja imamo ljubaznošću ovih fantastičnih tela u kojima ćemo da umremo. Ovih tela u kojima ćemo da umremo.
She was also really curious about her legacy. What, if anything, she'd leave behind. But leaving a legacy isn't optional. We're doing it every single day. You're doing it with every smile, every word, every kind word, every harsh word, every action, every inaction, every dollar you spend. You're telling the people who are paying attention exactly who you are, and that is what they'll tell of you when you are gone. At her funeral, despite all of her career accomplishments, nobody talked about any of that. They talked about who she was, nobody cared about what she'd done. When we focus on our productivity, we highlight what we have to do to feel worthy, rather than who we get to be, where worthiness is our birthright and we are human.
Takođe je istinski zanimalo njeno nasleđe. Šta će, i da li išta, ostaviti za sobom. Ostavljanje nasleđa pak nije opciono. Radimo to baš svaki dan. Radite to svakim osmehom, svakom rečju, svakom blagom rečju, svakom grubom rečju, svakim delanjem, svakim nedelanjem, svakom novčanicom koju potrošite. Saopštavate ljudima koji obraćaju pažnju tačno ko ste, a to je ono što će reći o vama kada vas više ne bude. Na njenoj sahrani, uprkos njenim karijernim dostignućima, niko uopšte nije govorio o tome. Govorili su o tome ko je bila, nikog nije bilo briga čime se bavila. Kada se fokusiramo na produktivnost, naglašavamo šta moramo da uradimo da bismo se osećali dostojnim, a ne ko bismo mogli da budemo, gde je dostojnost naše urođeno pravo, a mi smo ljudi.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
We're human. Messily, magically, fantastically, beautifully, briefly, perfectly human. Now humans are meaning-making machines. We can make a story out of anything and make it sound good. So why not then make meaning out of the magic of the mundane? And absolve ourselves of the responsibility of trying to have some grand life purpose? Why not just give ourselves permission to be fully human, to be fallible, to be messy, to be here while we're here? I mean, is nobody else tripping out over the fact that we're on a giant blue rock spinning through space? Y'all don't trip about that, because I do regularly.
Ljudi smo. Neuredno, čarobno, fantastično, prelepo, kratko, savršeno ljudski. Sad, ljudi su mašine za pravljenje smisla. Sve možemo da pretvorimo u priču koja zvuči dobro. Zašto onda ne napraviti smisao od čarolije svakodnevice? I time se oslobodimo odgovornosti pokušaja dosezanja nekakve uzvišene životne svrhe? Zašto prosto ne damo sebi dozvolu da budemo u potpunosti ljudi, da budemo pogrešivi, neuredni, da budemo ovde dok smo ovde? Mislim, zar niko drugi nije sluđen zbog činjenice da smo na ogromnom plavom kamenu koji se vrti kroz svemir? Niste sluđeni zbog toga, jer ja redovno jesam.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
And then what really trips me out is that while that's going on, we're getting bent out of shape over traffic. Please let the cars merge, OK? Can we agree universally we're going to let people merge? Let them merge, let them merge. Let them merge. It requires nothing of you, just to give them a little bit of time. And in fact, it's probably taking more time off your life by all the high blood pressure when you don't want to let them merge. Just let them in, it'll be fine, everybody's fine, it's OK. Hold life lightly. We've got to hold life really, really lightly. We are all dying. We're all dying.
A ono što me zaista izbezumljuje je da dok se sve to dešava, gubimo razum zbog saobraćaja. Molim vas pustite kola da se prestroje, važi? Možemo li univerzalno da pustimo ljude da se prestrojavaju? Nek se prestrojavaju, nek se prestrojavaju. Nek se prestrojavaju. Ne traži se ništa od vas, samo da im date malo vremena. I zapravo, verovatno vam oduzima više vremena u životu zbog visokog krvnog pritiska kada im ne dozvolite da se prestroje. Samo ih propustite, biće sve u redu, svi su u redu, u redu je. Budite rasterećeni. Moramo da doživljavamo život krajnje, krajnje rasterećeno. Svi mi umiremo. Svi mi umiremo.
Now I can understand why people maybe don't want to talk about death or think about it. It's uncomfortable. It's sad, it's scary, icky. Acknowledging your death means that you are not the center of the story, and that is disquieting to the very fragile human ego. Acknowledging your mortality also means acknowledging our powerlessness and lack of control we have in life. Also icky. It also means surrendering to the big "I don't knows" of life and also the really big "I don't knows" of "what, if anything, happens after we die?" But since we don't know, why not imagine something absurd, something glorious, something huge? A vision that actually serves you rather than makes you want to recoil in fear. We could.
Sad, mogu da razumem zašto ljudi možda ne žele da govore o smrti ili da misle o njoj. Nelagodna je. Tužna, zastrašujuća, gnjecava. Prihvatanje sopstvene smrti znači da niste središte priče, a to je uznemirujuće za izuzetno krhki ljudski ego. Pihvatanje sopstvene smrtnosti znači i prihvatanje naše nemoći i odsustva kontrole koju imamo u životu. I to je gnjecavo. Takođe znači predavanje velikim „nepoznanicama” života kao i zaista velikim nepoznanicama toga „šta se, i da li išta, dešava nakon što umremo?” Međutim, kako ne znamo, zašto ne bismo zamislili nešto apsurdno, nešto veličanstveno, nešto ogromno? Viziju koja vam ide u prilog umesto da zbog nje ustuknete u strahu. Mogli bismo.
You want to hear my working theory? It's absurd, OK? And please remember, even though I might kind of look like Miss Cleo, I don't know anything about what happens after we die, alright? This is just an idea, OK. So I'm on my deathbed. On the outside, they are clapping. On the inside -- well, I've hit my death pose, all right? I'm in my death pose. On the inside, I'm starting to feel everything I ever felt in this body, all at the same time. It's all starting to gather up in my body all at the same time. Like that one time I was 11 and I stepped on a frog. I mean, poor frog, and I felt so bad, but I was barefoot, ew, like, I can still feel it squishing up between my toes. Yuck.
Da li želite da čujete moju radnu teoriju? Apsurdna je, u redu? I molim vas upamtite, iako možda nekako izgledam kao vidovnjakinja, ne znam ništa o tome šta se dešava kada umremo, u redu? Ovo je samo zamisao, u redu. Dakle, na smrtnoj sam postelji. Napolju aplaudiraju. Unutra - pa, zauzela sam pozu mrtvaca, u redu? U pozi sam mrtvaca. Unutra, počinjem da osećam sve što sam ikad osećala u ovom telu, sve istovremeno. Sve počinje da se sakuplja u mom telu u isto vreme. Kao jednom kad sam imala 11 godina i nagazila na žabu. Mislim, jadna žaba, osećala sam se loše, ali bila sam bosa, fuj, i dalje osećam kako se gnječi između mojih prstiju. Bljak.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
When you bite into an orange and the juice squirts into your mouth, and then there's the little bite in your jaw, there's a little bite in your jaw because it's sour. Or when you first bite into a fried plantain. Or getting into clean sheets, that feeling gathering in my body, all the feelings, getting into a hot shower, listening to a song that you love for the very first time, I'm hearing Stevie Wonder "As" playing, how I feel my spirit when I see the color yellow. Just all these feelings are starting to roll up in my body. My niece’s laughter, my nephew trying to teach me how to Dougie. It did not go well. It didn't go well, I still don't know how to do it. How I can look into my partner's eyes and just by looking into his eyes, I can feel love in my body. All these feelings are starting to gather up in my body.
Kada zagrizete pomorandžu i sok vam prsne u usta, a onda osetite peckanje u vilici, pecka vas po vilici jer je kisela. Ili kad prvi put zagrizete pečenu divlju bananu. Ili se smestite u čistu posteljinu, to osećanje mi se skuplja u telu, sva osećanja, ulazak pod vreo tuš, slušanje pesme koju volite prvi put, čujem „As” Stivija Vondera kako svira, kako osećam svoj duh kada vidim žutu boju. Prosto mi se sva ova osećanja nakupljaju u telu. Smeh moje nećake, nećak koji me uči da plešem dagi. Nije dobro prošlo. Nije dobro prošlo, i dalje ne znam kako se to radi. Kako mogu da pogledam u oči svog partnera i samo gledanjem u njegove oči mogu da osetim ljubav u mom telu. Sva ova osećanja počinju da se sakupljaju u mom telu.
At the same time, I'm also feeling every little bit of pain I've ever felt physically and emotionally. I'm feeling all the sensations, I'm feeling anger, feeling rage, feeling frustration, feeling grief, feeling sadness, feeling all those things gathering up in my body. I'm feeling despair, desperation, sadness. I'm feeling insecurity. All the crippling doubt, I'm feeling all the failures, all the disappointments. Every single time I thought I couldn't make it through the day, It's all starting to gather up in my body. I'm also remembering every single time I did get up. So I'm also feeling all the hope, all the joy, all the awe, all the mystery, all the freedom that I feel in this body.
Istovremeno, osećam svaki i najmanji bol koji sam ikad osetila fizički i emocionalno. Osećam sve senzacije, osećam bes, osećam jarost, osećam frustracije, osećam patnju, osećam tugu, osećam sve te stvari kako mi se sakupljaju u telu. Osećam očaj, beznađe, tugu. Osećam nesigurnost. Svu parališuću sumnju, osećam sve poraze, sva razočaranja. Svaki put kad sam mislila da neću pregurati dan, sve to počinje da se nakuplja u mom telu. Takođe se sećam svakog puta kada jesam ustala. Pa osećam i svu nadu, sav užitak, zadivljenost, svu misteriju, svu slobodu koju osećam u ovom telu.
But most of all, I'm also feeling all of the love, all the aching love that underwrites it all. And when I cannot take it anymore, I am saturated with this experience that I've had, poof, I explode into a cosmic orgasm.
Ali iznad svega, takođe osećam svu ljubav, svu bolnu ljubav koja je u srži svega. I kada više ne mogu da podnesem, zasićena sam ovim iskustvom koje imam, puf, eksplodiram u kosmičkom orgazmu.
Audience: Yes!
Publika: Da!
AA: Yes. And like a pinata that's broken open, pieces of glitter start to fall from the sky. Glitter confetti, falling, falling. Orange, pink, purple, yellow, turquoise, everything. Gold, silver, falling, falling, falling, like a really soft snow shower. Falling everywhere. In larger concentrations on the people who loved me. And in lesser concentration on those people whose lives I touched. And then the rest of it just gets reabsorbed into a big undulating glitter wave that goes on all around as far as I can see, for all of eternity that envelops and encompasses us all. Maybe it's just glitter. Could it be? It could be anything. All I know is at that point, all I believe is at that point, when the glitter, all the pieces of me have been reencompassed, the I that I think of myself as, Alua Adwoba Arthur, having this one single solitary human experience, has been reenveloped into all that ever was and all that ever will be, And it is complete. And I am safe.
AA: Da. I poput puknute pinjate, komadići šljokica počinju da padaju s neba. Svetlucavi konfeti, padaju, padaju. Narandžasti, roze, ljubičasti, žuti, tirkizni, svi. Zlatni, srebrni, padaju, padaju, padaju poput veoma blagog snežnog pljuska. Padaju svuda. U velikim koncentracijama po ljudima koji su me voleli. I u manjim koncentracijama po ljudima čije sam živote dotakla. A potom se ostatak prosto nanovo apsorbuje u veliki pulsirajući svetlucavi talas koji se pruža uokolo dokle mi pogled seže, za čitavu večnost koja obuhvata i zaokružuje sve nas. Možda su prosto šljokice. Može li biti? Moglo bi biti bilo šta. Sve što znam je da u toj tački, sve u šta verujem je da u toj tački, kada šljokice, svi delići mene budu ponovo obuhvaćeni, ja kako doživljavam sebe, Alua Ađoba Artur, koja imam ovo jedinstveno usamljeno ljudsko iskustvo, nanovo sam umotana u sve što je ikad bilo i što će ikad biti. I potpuno je. I bezbedna sam.
I am still far from where I was in Cuba. At that point, my death would have come as a relief. An ending to my pain and to my suffering and a way out of this life that I couldn't quite figure out how to get into. If I'm to die today, I know that my death will come as a celebration. As a culmination of a life lived in and loved. A life that's worth dying from.
I dalje sam daleko od stanja u kom sam bila na Kubi. U toj tački, smrt bi mi došla poput olakšanja. Okončanje mog bola i patnje, kao i izlaz iz života u koji nisam mogla da shvatim kako da se uključim. Ako danas umrem, znam da će mi smrt doći kao svetkovina. Kao kulminacija života proživljenog i voljenog. Života od koga vredi umreti.
After the last decade spent supporting people as they think through their lives and prepare for their death, I know, I trust that the real gift in being with our mortality is the sheer wonder that we live at all.
Nakon poslednje decenije provedene u podržavanju ljudi dok se osvrću na svoje živote i pripremaju se za smrt, znam, verujem da je istinski dar postojanja s našom smrtnošću sama zadivljenost time da smo uopšte živi.
That's all I got. Thank you.
To je sve što imam. Hvala vam.
(Cheers and applause)
(Ovacije i aplauz)