#FolkloreThursday - Shinigami #Japanese

My teens and I have been re-watching Death Note, an anime based on the manga series. If you like complicated plots that question morality and blur the line between good and evil, give Death Note a try. One of the main characters (and my favorite) is Ryuk, a shinigami. That said, today's post is on shinigami.

Shinigami (死神, The Japanese Grim Reaper) 

from the Ehon Hyaku monogatari (絵本百物語)

Creative Commons

Shinigami are the Japanese personification of death and depicted as gods or supernatural spirits. However, the word shinigami didn't appear in classical literature until the Edo period, when it appeared in writings with themes of double suicides. Interpretations of the word differ; some state shinigami were gods, ghosts or evil spirits, while others assert the word expressed the fleetingness of life.

Folk religion also spoke of shinigami. According to custom, those who attended the sick at night, must drink tea or eat a bowl of rice before sleeping, or risk being visited by a shinigami.
In the Shizuoka Prefecture, a shinigami could possess someone and lead them to mountains, seas, and railroads where others had died. The dead would then be allowed to ascend, with the possessed invited to take their place. In the Okayama Prefecture, while it was expected to visit a grave during Higan (a Buddhist holiday), one would be at risk of possession by a shinigami. If you visited the grave during sunset, it would be necessary to also visit the grave during sunrise.

When the western notion of death entered Japan, shinigami were thought to exist within human nature. They became the subject of many works of fiction, and now show up in manga, anime, and novels such as Pokemon, Death Note, Bleach, Black Butler and Soul Eater, just to name a few.

On Grief.

I write about aspects of death and the paranormal every day, so you'd think it would make dealing with "real" death easier. It doesn't. As open as I am about pretty much everything, I’m private when it comes to grief. I don't go to funerals or wakes, I don't talk about loved ones who have died, and I don’t commiserate their loss with others. Not because I'm heartless, but because my grief is private. Nothing anyone can say can take away the pain. Nothing.

A friend of mine passed away unexpectedly last week. It was a shock to everyone. She wasn’t feeling well one evening, and was dead by morning. Just like that. I'd spoken to her the week before, and she seemed fine. When she didn’t answer my last email, I figured she’d gotten busy. In retrospect, I should have called her. Maybe I would have sensed something was wrong. Maybe I could have said something that changed the outcome. Maybe not. I keep running our last conversation over-and-over in my mind, and find myself wishing I’d turned it around. “Yes, my daughter’s birthday is coming up. Anything you get will be awesome. Now…how are you doing? What are your plans this week? What would you like for Christmas?” My list of regrets goes on, but it doesn't matter. Such is life.

I've seen people share on Facebook when someone dies. The slew of comments that follow leave me at a loss for words. "They're in a better place," "Condolences," "I'm so sorry for your loss." In spite of the fact I live in words, I don’t comment when it comes to those kinds of posts. I feel a little guilty, but honestly, nothing I say will make you feel better.

I've been off social media for the past week because it was hard to pretend things were cool. Writing about the paranormal and death has been difficult.  Losing someone you love sucks. Loss isn't new to me, but it doesn't get easier. I think what pulled me out of my introspection was a call from an old friend of mine. Thank you, Christopher, for sharing your wedding plans with me. I'm not sure you realize how much your call meant, or the timing of.

My advice if you haven't been in this situation yet: Give your loved ones a call. Today. Ask them how they’re doing. And then…listen. Don’t put it off because you’re busy. It’s way more important than all that other junk. Trust me.

I worked on my book today, which bodes well. Life goes on.

Frightening Friday-Storm Clouds Ripping Through My Eyes

Continuing with my flash fiction month. The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. I watch clouds a lot, especially storm clouds. I find them mesmerizing.

Storm Clouds Ripping Through My Eyes

The movement began in the clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Little movements, like tendrils of smoke. It was only when you looked away that the tendrils coagulated into shapes and forms. Some were human-like and some...were more beastly. The beasts ran wild like horses. Their feet pounded the grey clouds like heartbeats. Their faces contorted into soundless screams as they reared their heads in tortured ferocity. The human-like figures ran behind them. Sky clad. Formed and unformed. A cacophony of darks and lights pressed together like clay.

And then...they fell from the sky. One by one, the shapes fell. They screamed and plummeted to earth. They swooped down upon those who had been unlucky enough to notice them.

But one held back. One. It was different than the others. It held a greater temperance. The others would fall upon whomever had noticed them. They would rip unfortunate souls to shreds and satiate their hunger without pausing to think.

But this One would wait.

A man lay dying in a field. The cloying smell of death lay over the area like a grasping hand. The field was soaked in the blood of many. The man's time had come.

It swooped down, a swirling mass of black, white and grey. Descending upon him, it triumphantly captured the man's last breath. Whether it was a breath of relief or a breath of loss didn't matter to it. It had waited. It could return to the clouds. The others would be forced to satiate their hunger. But it? It would be free, once more.

Frightening Friday-Death by Laughter

Photo courtesy of weezerthewonderful via Flickr

Did you know you could literally die laughing?

…which is why I write paranormal and horror. Wouldn’t want to kill any of you people. 

Death by laughter usually results from cardiac arrest or asphyxiation. Instances of death by laughter have been recorded from Ancient Greece to the modern day. It's rare but it does happen.

In 1410, King Martin of Aragon died from a combination of indigestion and uncontrollable laughter. He was eating an entire goose when his favorite jester entered his bedroom. When King Martin asked where the jester had been, the jester replied with: "Out of the next vineyard, where I saw a young deer hanging by his tail from a tree, as if someone had so punished him for stealing figs."
I'm not sure why that was so funny...but perhaps it was lost in the translation.

In 1975, Alex Mitchell of King's Lynn, England, died laughing while watching an episode of The Goodies, which featured a kilt-clad Scotsman battling a master of the Lancastrian martial arts armed with a black pudding. After 25 minutes of laughter, Mitchell died on the sofa from heart failure. It was determined that the family carried Long QT syndrome, a genetic disease which results in heart rhythm abnormality. Mitchell's heart attack was caused by the excess of stimuli--in his case, laughter.

In 1989, Ole Bentzen, a Danish audiologist, died laughing while watching A Fish Called Wanda (one of my favorite movies). During the scene where Otto sticks a chip up Ken's nose, Ole died of cardiac arrest brought on by laughter. According to rumor (confirmed by his son) Ole apparently had a similar experience to Ken's. He put a piece of cauliflower up his and every family member's nose as a joke and made a bet as to who could eat their carrots without the cauliflower falling out. He sounds like someone who would make me laugh.

My heart goes out to these families. All I can say is that at least they died with a smile on their face.

Frightening Friday-The Grim Reaper

Public Domain photo

You know the guy. Long black robe, scythe, a bit underfed? If you see him coming, it would probably be your cue to turn and flee. Or check yourself into a mental institution, whatever strikes your fancy.

The personification of Death in this form has been around since the 15th century. In some cases, the Grim Reaper could actually cause the victim's death. For the most part, however, the Grim Reaper came to reap a person's soul and drag them into the afterlife.

The Grim Reaper has been depicted in many other forms too. In the television series, American Horror Story; Asylum, Death was represented as a dark angel. Played by the beautiful actress Francis Conroy, Death seals the deal with a kiss. In Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics, Death is personified as a goth female dressed in casual clothes. She wears a silver ankh on a chain around her neck, and has a marking similar to the Eye of Horus around her right eye. In the television series Supernatural, Death (personified by the brilliant actor Julian Richings) is a father to many reapers, who act as his minions. In my novel BETWEEN, Death is the spirit of an individual (who has committed suicide, in this case) assigned to a living person during the course of their lifetime. When it's time for that person to die, the Death Spirit steps in to take them where they need to go.

These Death forms are similar in that they appear human. Why? Because death is a scary concept for most. In appearing as a human-like entity, there is the small chance of being able to bargain for one's life. I have yet to see Death in the form of a toothbrush or a crayon. Maybe a fluffy white kitten. One with a wide-eyed stare who doesn't give a damn about your pleas.  Hmm...