Celebration Of Life
To celebrate life, we must understand the ramifications of — death.
How many times can we die in a lifetime? It would depend on your definition of death or, the end. What does it mean?
It is suggested that we start dying the second we make our grand entrance from the womb. There’s a simple truth to this knowledge — is time moving forward, or is the illusion of forward merely our acceptance that we are perpetually moving towards the end. The finite of existence in a world that embraces an idea of the everlasting.
Scientists have been throwing around the idea that we are existing within a giant three dimensional hologram and that life itself; is merely and illusion. Which leads one to seriously consider the meaning of said life. In a world of one’s and zeros — the binary finery of a digital existence, what purpose do we, as individuals, serve?
Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was one of my earliest mentors in the quest to understand the existential existence that is — life. The idea that we are on a timeline that isn’t linear but constantly in flux and that our reality is merely a moment that our memory captures in that moment. Take a moment. Ponder.
There are many reasons I come to this bizarre preponderance at this particular juncture in time. 1. A movie I watched tonight depicting the life of a woman whose chronological age did not move with the metaphysical and was subjugated to existence in a 29 year old body, perpetually, while the world around her continued to move outward, as is purposed by Hubble’s Law — which means (of course) continuing until there was no longer any room for the universe to expand. And 2. An experience I had with a rather large, unwieldy tractor trailer many times my size that clearly put into perspective — my rather small and insignificant size in this universe.
OK. The movie was “The Age Of Adaline” which, being a romantic story about love and intermixing ideas about linear time was right in my wheelhouse. Anyone that has a love for Kurt and Slaughterhouse Five can probably relate at this very moment…if not, please hear me out.
The rather large truck? Yes. I was riding my bike to work as I have had occasion to do on many mornings and, as most mornings my mind was awash thoughts and ideas about the universe, life and many mundane things that we all absorb and distract ourselves with. What made this morning different from others was the moment that this particularly large semi-trailer passed me, mere inches away as I felt myself moving towards the curb to avoid a particularly gruesome death under the wheels of a machine that had no feelings or inclinations about the death, my death, that of a mere human being.
My first response? As I squeezed to the curb and applied all the force of my brakes to come to a stop — I had presence of mind to raise arm in the air and with hand outstretched — let the driver know through the vision of his drivers side mirror that the middle finger now firmly extended in the air was a clear indication of just how upset I was with the perception of my near death experience.
The truck driver kept on and after I had a moment to collect myself, I peddled off and got back into a rhythm or universality and existential existence as I headed to work. The memory was still fresh but I quickly drifted off — thinking about all the other stuff that clutters the brain during a typical day. With the exception of a quick outburst to an acquaintance when I reached my destination — the thought of my untimely demise took a backseat to what was now in front of me.
It would be later that day, on my departure home that thoughts of the “what ifs” and what could have happened took hold. I immediately started to think about the tangled wreckage under the wheels and a driver who cared so little about my well being that he simply carried on. Images of my twisted corpse wrapped in the welded tubing of my bicycle flooded the brain. So clear and crisp that it was if it had actually happened and I was recollecting the very memory of my demise. Then the other scenarios played out — all the other things that could have happened, this while peddling rather safely, after the fact, home.
My thoughts continued to stray to ideas about the what ifs - the semi driving past, brushing me on its way. I reach out to grab on, holding on for dear life, hoping that someone would notice me being dragged under the trailer….
Meanwhile, somewhere in Victoria, over a 1000 Kilometers away, at approximately the exact same time on the exact same day:
I read his story, after my wife randomly told me about it (being a Victoria girl and subscribing to the Victoria Colonist) and realized that in my mind, the exact same set of circumstances played out exactly while someone else lived the same moment at another point in time and space.
Moments all strung together, that frame a narrative that is life. It’s different for everyone, and our perception of that life is invariably skewed to our own experience.
And I realize that the idea of a holographic existence that is mapped out and one where we play our part and contribute to the machine that we cannot see and more importantly — can not comprehend could be all too real.
What does it all mean? I’m not sure. It’s fascinating and with death constantly looming, I’ve realized that most of us don’t take time — to take stock of that eventuality.
No more poignant is this idea than the image of a child, dead on a beach, face down, the finality while we try to understand a world that would let such a tragedy happen.
It’s all around us. An inevitability. The image strikes a chord because it’s raw and we understand immediately what is before us. Yet, without the image, it’s just a story that we either relate to or, ignore.
The plight of Syrians is real. The story however, the real reason these tragedies are happening is a combination of sensationalism, conjecture and the reality of a world that is driven by money and commerce.
To believe anything else is to be ignorant of who we are. There are only two sides. Good and Bad. You can feign our disdain for the death of that child but if you support an administration that promotes and defends genocide — then the death of that child is on your hands. Just as much as it is on the hands of the administration.
We can no longer plead ignorance. The information is readily available and we merely need to turn off the mainstream, that power that is wholly and unequivocally indebted to the corporations that fund and ultimately decide its fate.
“The revolution will not be televised…”
The sheep will follow. The learned will ask. Change will come when the questions are answered.
Peace.
