Silvered by thrashing rains, visited by swag-fly maggots, gulls and crabs. His finger on her leg. The indignities of death are a running theme in Being Dead , but the helpless horrors of the dead are hurled at us only to underscore their utter meaningless. They are the result of each other on many levels. Our lives are defined by our fear of death.
Death is the invariable answer to even the most cautious life.
Religion is not part of the equation. It is the living that matters most. And even the most ordinary, mundane life has beauty. Even the tiny lives that strip the corpses on the beach. We live, we die, we do not need to understand.