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that's the thing about funerals
Dec. 17th, 2001 01:43 ami don't cry at them. i've been to four, yet i've never shed genuine tears for the departed. maybe because i wasn't particularly close to any of them, maybe because everyone had had time to prepare and there was no shock when the time actually came; but for me, it had more to do with the fact that they were all elderly adults. they all died natural deaths having lived a full lifetime, and that somehow made for an easier task of letting go. and maybe they hadn't gotten to accomplish all their goals or take in enough about this absolutely miraculous world all around us, but they had enjoyed a sizeable time here (relative to the human lifespan, of course - i don't think there's any such thing as sizeable when it comes to any sort of time spent; eternity itself wouldn't be long enough for me.)
and to have the impending danger of death looming so close... not many people know about our strained relations with China, currently in the process of building an army in size unheard of since medieval times, and more tangibly this whole Bin Laden mess, whatwith futilely trying to account for nukes and everyone and their mother walking about with itchy trigger fingers so as to put a hole on the map where their problems had been - it's a scary time to be alive. the sun's energy won't run out for another 5 billion years - yet i doubt if any living thing on this planet will be able to claim descendants who'll live to see it. there's just no bearing with the notion of not living anymore, of having time cut short or even ended unaidedly. there's no fathoming of the wonders that abound everywhere if we only bothered to stop, to not hate, to smell, taste, feel, experience the beauty and sublime perfection of the world around our egomaniacal societies.
i don't want to live in moments. give me all of it, whether raw, gentle, unbidden or bittersweet, i want to live until life, not poisonous winds or stray bullets of meaningless quarrel, kills me.
"Are you ready?" Slowly, she smiled a little, and nodded. Somberly, he passed her a peach, and threaded his arm through hers. In synchrony, never tearing their eyes from each other, they bit into the fruit, and she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor of culminating sweetness as it unfurled like a flower on her tongue. It tasted too good to be heaven, and so it could only taste of Earth. Of history and of humanity, of freedom and of summer,...
-Annie Sewell-Jennings, The Last Summer
and to have the impending danger of death looming so close... not many people know about our strained relations with China, currently in the process of building an army in size unheard of since medieval times, and more tangibly this whole Bin Laden mess, whatwith futilely trying to account for nukes and everyone and their mother walking about with itchy trigger fingers so as to put a hole on the map where their problems had been - it's a scary time to be alive. the sun's energy won't run out for another 5 billion years - yet i doubt if any living thing on this planet will be able to claim descendants who'll live to see it. there's just no bearing with the notion of not living anymore, of having time cut short or even ended unaidedly. there's no fathoming of the wonders that abound everywhere if we only bothered to stop, to not hate, to smell, taste, feel, experience the beauty and sublime perfection of the world around our egomaniacal societies.
i don't want to live in moments. give me all of it, whether raw, gentle, unbidden or bittersweet, i want to live until life, not poisonous winds or stray bullets of meaningless quarrel, kills me.
"Are you ready?" Slowly, she smiled a little, and nodded. Somberly, he passed her a peach, and threaded his arm through hers. In synchrony, never tearing their eyes from each other, they bit into the fruit, and she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor of culminating sweetness as it unfurled like a flower on her tongue. It tasted too good to be heaven, and so it could only taste of Earth. Of history and of humanity, of freedom and of summer,...
-Annie Sewell-Jennings, The Last Summer
