دار بيبليون
The story of a Rooster from the cradle to the grave
Written and translated by Lwiis Saliba, Read on Zoom 22/6/2022
He passed away this morning, our beloved Rooster, at the age of almost two decades. He was buried in the corner of the garden, where he lived and sang at the top of his voice every day at dawn.
The day before yesterday I noticed that his movements were very slow and that he was very tired, even exhausted, and that he kept his seat, contrary to his habit. We took him in and examined him and it turned out that he was not injured, so probably unharmed. We left him to see if he would return to his corner of the garden, and noticed that, despite being tired and even heavy, he returned and climbed the tree he had spent the night sleeping on. So he spent all day yesterday perched there, but he did not come down each morning as he used to. Today we found him: he had fallen, dead, from the tree on which he had spent his nights for some twenty years.
He who lived on heights and summits, between earth and sky, had refused to die except where he had lived and spent his nights, that is, in the world of the isthmus (Barzakh) and between earth and sky. He always sought the Highest in his life and was close to the Most High in his death. He breathed his last in heaven, so that his body fell to the ground and he was buried in that soil which he loved, at the very foot of the tree trunk from which he had awakened the whole neighbourhood by announcing the sunrise. May that sun shine on him in a whole new world! After paying his tribute to the Most High whom he had loved so much, he slept peacefully and was able to rest.
Our beloved rooster taught us to be happy in our lives and to always rejoice in the light and its brilliance at dawn. And here he is today teaching us how to die well: by looking upwards, by dwelling on the heights, by always waiting for the sun of illumination, by working for its coming, and by waiting for the last hour in peace and silence, neither discouraged nor frightened by death, which is the sister of life and its other face, for life and death both grow together in the face of the sun, whose rising he awaited at the dawn of each day, always announcing its arrival with joy.
He spent a lifetime watching the sun at each dawn, staring at its first rays that touched the earth, and kissing it to wake it up. He was the first to wake up and wait for that blessed hour of the sun’s illumination, as if he had been charged each day with delivering night to day. Blessed is he who spent his life as a daily witness to the coming of the dawn. And as he lived looking upwards, he died looking upwards.
May we learn from our beloved pets, the domestic animals, and companions, with whom we live daily, how to live… and how to die. They give us daily, even hourly, lessons in life, and also lessons in its twin sister: death. Let’s look, let’s aspire, let’s persevere and let’s question ourselves. Our rooster died, or rather he refused to die in any other way than the way he had lived, that is to say on the heights, from where he crowed. In spite of his incapacity and declining strength during his last days, he only refused to climb the tree on which he had spent his nights in the space of about two decades, and on which he spent his entire last day. I passed by him yesterday and saw that he was standing on that tree, as if he carried the weight of the days between his wings. He was completely helpless, unable to spread them, to float and even to sing, as he used to do every day. He only gave me a sad and calm look that expressed his immobility and impotence, he who, only a few days ago, filled the garden with his movement and the whole neighbourhood with his songs. In his last look I glimpsed tenderness, but I didn’t know at the time that it was a look of farewell.
On this same tree I found him hanging by his feet about seven years ago. He must have slipped and got stuck that day, as he was shaking and flapping as he tried to free himself in vain. I had saved his life on that occasion, exposing my hands to his beaks, just at the crucial moment of certain doom…And the look on his face yesterday, at the very spot where I had saved him, was both a thank you and a farewell!
This rooster was majestic, even daring in his preparation to die, just as he was bold, lively and dynamic in his daily celebration of life. His agony lasted no more than two days, during which time he remained helpless and semi-immobile. We pulled him away from his corner and he did not run away, jump or protest as he would have done in such a situation. We picked him up and examined his body and feathers. He was completely submissive in our hands, contrary to what he used to do. We left him, on purpose, away from his corner and the tree on which he had spent his nights, to see what he would do. Then he came back, with a slow movement and weighed down by years, and as soon as he reached his tree, he climbed it with great difficulty. Despite his apparent inability, he managed to reach the top of the tree where he lay down every night. At this climax he spent his whole penultimate night and last day, and when I examined him yesterday he was as if waiting for that ‘Visitor’ who must meet every living person to take him from one state to another.
He spent his last day fasting on the tree. But how could he eat while suspended between earth and sky? This bird, which spent the whole day without worrying about anything but eating and drinking, chose with contentment and satisfaction to spend its last day fasting, as if it only wanted to meet the face of ‘His Lord’ on a hungry stomach and an empty belly.
Do we realise and are we aware that we die as we live? The story of this rooster is an example, and even a proof of what we say. He lived in the heights and on the peaks, he died as he lived. Perhaps from the point where he finished, he will start again.
Lwiis Saliba
Byblos/Lebanon on 03/10/2021