This is the latest in a series of essays titled “Man Has Premonition of Own Death.”
Never wear new clothes to a funeral. Don’t ever count how many cars there are in a funeral procession – and don’t point at the funeral train or Death will point his bony finger next at you. If a clock’s tick suddenly gets louder, someone is about to die.
Flowers won’t grow on an evil man’s grave. If a bird or a white moth flies into your house, death is on the wing. Thunder in the distance when a funeral is over means the deceased has reached his destination.
Close a dead man’s eyes lest he look upon you and beckon. Cover all mirrors after a death in your house – if you see your reflection, you will be next. Unlock all doors and open all windows after a death in your house – if these are closed or locked, the soul of the deceased will not be free.
Vultures circle, death is at hand. Butterflies fly at night, death approaches. A dog howls three times in the night, someone has died.
To all of this accumulated wisdom I add this realization: Writing about death will not prevent it and will not even delay it.