Menoceasal [men-oh-see-sul]; the condition of not being.
One of the things that has been troubling me of late is the short-term memory function. It has ceased. Did I mention it before?
Since the monthly 'mutational' ceased, the said function really showed its absence. Other things ceased also. Like the need to take charge. Or the desire to climb trees. The energy for gardening. Thank heavens for kindly neighbours who fretted if the grass got over half an inch long.
Then there was the cessation of a will to live.
Yeah, that one took me by surprise. I like the dark. Can be very creative in the dark. This, however, was not a dark with which I was familiar. It came upon me during a major dose of bronchitis, several winters back. Yup the old lungs again. They'll be the death of me I tell ya.
Which is what started that whole "why doesn't it just cease now anyway" line of thinking. It sort of fits in with the menomonocanticle state. There was nobody who would really miss me if I turned over right then and there. All I had to do was stop taking the meds. I'd slip away in the night. YAM ceased. There was no fear. No emotion. I was ready.
Jade Dog MacWoof, on the other paw, was not. She apparently heard me discussing this with myself and stuck her nose into proceedings. Literally. All wet and cold and "shift over mother I'm coming in that there bed with you".
The night ceased and so did all the thinking. Another thing had ceased I realised, (once I had the thinking cap set straight again). 'Me' the ego. Not my sense of identity as such, but the part that was constantly battling with the world. In that process of letting go of 'life' I had surrendered totally in spirit. It was a short while after this that things took a swing in a direction that could never have been foretold.
Love with the capital L. It'll save you every time. May it never cease.