Little red dragonflies are flying back and forth harmlessly all around me, engaged in seriously in their own business. The water undulates serenely. The white goose stan
ds on the ledge at the edge of the water. Calmly, he looks around, takes a couple of paces back and forth and then returns to the edge. He looks down in the water. Another goose, this one with black spots on its body is in the water. At first glance he looks like he is eating or searching food, with its head under the water. But he’s not. He’s dead. Caught between a rock and the edge of the lake, his body is moving freely to the rhythm of the water. It is Death, in its purest, most natural form. Not ugly, nor beautiful, but something transcending these insufficient mundane and manmade descriptions.
The dominant sound is the wind blowing through the branches and leaves of the trees. In the distance, birds chirping, or a duck quacking. The red dragonflies continue to buzz around, oblivious to the events around them, oblivious to all but their own mysterious business. The white goose, still not uttering a sound, looks up, walks a few steps away, and then comes back again. Once more he looks down at his fallen comrade. A gust of wind shakes the leaves, and pushes some of the dragonflies out of their way. But they don’t seem to mind; they readjust and continue on. A troop of ducks is in the middle of the lake, swimming around leisurely without any particular aim. The dead goose continues to bob up and down in the shallow water, and his companion continues to stand guard.
Several minutes pass. The air and the water, and the creatures go on as before. Only the white goose seems to be aware. Only the white goose seems to care about the dead body floating at his feet. But he keeps silent. He occasionally looks down at his fallen mate, staring for several seconds and then back up again. What is he thinking? I know he realises what has happened. I can see it in the eyes. There is concern there, perhaps. But each time he looks up, his regard contains a sense of determination and acceptance. And then he goes on with his silent vigil, pacing wordlessly, soundlessly, and faithfully. The loyal goose then looks and stares in the distance, as though waiting for something. What he awaits, I shall never know, save perhaps at The End. He then lowers his head, looks at the fallen brother and resumes his silent, calm vigil. Which he will undoubtedly continue for as long as it takes.
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How ironic, or perhaps rather fitting all the events on this trip have been. From a postman named Antonio telling us about the “Il Postino” connexion of the lovely island of Procida, to the young man Arcangelo appearing nearly out of nowhere only to guide us to the and now the Lago Averno, it seems that no event has been without its due sense of irony and fittingness. So now why should I be surprised at finding such a beautiful scene of Death and Life, at this lake, where in ancient times it was believed that the entrance to Hades, the Underworld, the Land of the Dead was located. The poignancy of the scene, its simplicity and naturalness has utterly stunned me.
Nature or rather Life itself offers us lessons at every turn it seems. So much to learns from these geese. The acceptance of Death – and by consequence the acceptance of Life. The acceptance of the passage as a normal and permanent part of life. The ever present spectre of impermanence, the all permeating notion of transience, in every single aspect of existence. That goose knows that his comrade is dead. He knows it. And he accepts it. He does not go into denial, does not cry and beat itself physically or emotionally. He accepts because he has to. Because it is a part of existence. Because he knows – even if it may subconsciously or innately – that life moves along lines which none can see. And he accepts that, and yet he will stand by the side of his fallen friend.
Our resistance in accepting death, especially of loved ones, is borne out of our own selfishness. We mourn because it is us who are deprived of the presence of the departed. What would life be without death? Nothing. How can we try and separate the two when they are two sides of the same coin? Can we enter a room without leaving another?
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The dead bird lies there as lifeless as ever. The companion stands guard as loyally as ever, not a sound being uttered. He will eventually leave. And he too will eventually die. And the sun will continue to shine donw. The red dragonflies will continue to buzz around attending their mysterious business as seriously as ever, and the wind will continue to blow over the lake and shake the leaves in the trees.
This was an excerpt from my Italy Travel Diary from this past summer. It was the penultimate day and we had just arrived at the Lago Averno, by a most tortuous and misguided of paths, dead tired and hungry, only to find the place utterly deserted. We hopped a fence, and my two companions collapsed on the ground and fell asleep upset in the midday sun (the photos are all courtesy of various – generous – people on the web)
