Requiem
I have a bit of a healthy obsession with death.
I have a painting hanging on my wall. It is one of two real paintings I own - paintings on canvas, works actually painted by a real painter. And I only have the other one because it was a gift given to me by the artist for buying the other one. I bought it when I was in Ukraine while visiting the artist at his house. It means a lot to me, and there's even an inscription on the back that says, in Russian, "To Jordan, Aleem." But the story of acquiring it is not the point.
The painting is called "Requiem." Requiem either means a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead or an act or token of remembrance. The painting is pretty simple. 7/8 of it is just blue - midnight, inky, blue as deep as the ocean and far as the night sky. The other eighth is an obscure depiction of a funeral procession. The leader is carrying a torch and pointing towards something hidden in the murky blue.
I don't like death. In fact, I hate it, which is probably why I'm kind of obsessed and fascinated by it. I'm only 23 years old, and I hope to someday be 80 years young. But I like that painting, because it gives me hope. Because death brings life back to us. Death reminds us that there is another life. And there is also this life. I used to have a very pessimistic view of life. Life is hard, and it's not fair, as my father told me many times growing up. Life is hard, and I could not forgive it for that. But I'm beginning to learn that that is not a reason to give up on it.
I dislike those people who tell the little kids to stop running and laughing in the sanctuary - which, is, exactly where people should be laughing and gamboling about. Those people who think that life is miserable, and because their lives are miserable, everyone else's should be too. If anyone ever tells me again that this life is some kind of purgatory that exists only to suffer so that I will be rewarded in the next life, I will tell him or her that he or she is full of shit. Really. I don't care if that person is a minister, a criminal, or a relative. I will tell that person that he or she is squandering the next life for the sake of this one - to hang on to this sick, prideful, nightmare.
When I look at my painting, I think of life. Because, although the mass trodding along in this funeral procession is walking to a grave, those people are also the only source of light in the picture. They are also a light walking into the darkness and illuminating it. The implied dead person in the painting has faded into the dark blue, but from that grave the light pushes onward. Death is only a kind of reference point. I will return to this and try to be more coherent, but it is exasperatingly difficult to pin down. But I hope you can feel me here - what I'm getting at. The dead person in the painting was once one of the torch-carriers. And who knows, could've been the spark that lit all of the torches that cast away the darkness. Darkness is not a thing, it is a no-thing. It is an absence, the absence of light. Darkness has no volition - it can do nothing to the light. But the light has ontological status, it can make the darkness go away, as the darkness can only exist if there is no light. Rambling now. Going to sleep.
Oh yeah, now I remember where I was going with this. My friend Greg Garrett just released a book that has made me think about some things, one of which is this: Death teaches us that "man does not live by bread alone." What? You ask. Yes, one can die without food. And one can die in a stocked pantry. Eating ALONE can kill a man. Man does not live by bread, ALONE. We need people. And the fact that the deceased in my painting had a bunch of people in requiem on his or her behalf, proves that he or she was not alone. (Greg's book is called "Crossing Myself." Don't think about the title, just go read it.)
Cheers,
Nords
I have a painting hanging on my wall. It is one of two real paintings I own - paintings on canvas, works actually painted by a real painter. And I only have the other one because it was a gift given to me by the artist for buying the other one. I bought it when I was in Ukraine while visiting the artist at his house. It means a lot to me, and there's even an inscription on the back that says, in Russian, "To Jordan, Aleem." But the story of acquiring it is not the point.
The painting is called "Requiem." Requiem either means a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead or an act or token of remembrance. The painting is pretty simple. 7/8 of it is just blue - midnight, inky, blue as deep as the ocean and far as the night sky. The other eighth is an obscure depiction of a funeral procession. The leader is carrying a torch and pointing towards something hidden in the murky blue.
I don't like death. In fact, I hate it, which is probably why I'm kind of obsessed and fascinated by it. I'm only 23 years old, and I hope to someday be 80 years young. But I like that painting, because it gives me hope. Because death brings life back to us. Death reminds us that there is another life. And there is also this life. I used to have a very pessimistic view of life. Life is hard, and it's not fair, as my father told me many times growing up. Life is hard, and I could not forgive it for that. But I'm beginning to learn that that is not a reason to give up on it.
I dislike those people who tell the little kids to stop running and laughing in the sanctuary - which, is, exactly where people should be laughing and gamboling about. Those people who think that life is miserable, and because their lives are miserable, everyone else's should be too. If anyone ever tells me again that this life is some kind of purgatory that exists only to suffer so that I will be rewarded in the next life, I will tell him or her that he or she is full of shit. Really. I don't care if that person is a minister, a criminal, or a relative. I will tell that person that he or she is squandering the next life for the sake of this one - to hang on to this sick, prideful, nightmare.
When I look at my painting, I think of life. Because, although the mass trodding along in this funeral procession is walking to a grave, those people are also the only source of light in the picture. They are also a light walking into the darkness and illuminating it. The implied dead person in the painting has faded into the dark blue, but from that grave the light pushes onward. Death is only a kind of reference point. I will return to this and try to be more coherent, but it is exasperatingly difficult to pin down. But I hope you can feel me here - what I'm getting at. The dead person in the painting was once one of the torch-carriers. And who knows, could've been the spark that lit all of the torches that cast away the darkness. Darkness is not a thing, it is a no-thing. It is an absence, the absence of light. Darkness has no volition - it can do nothing to the light. But the light has ontological status, it can make the darkness go away, as the darkness can only exist if there is no light. Rambling now. Going to sleep.
Oh yeah, now I remember where I was going with this. My friend Greg Garrett just released a book that has made me think about some things, one of which is this: Death teaches us that "man does not live by bread alone." What? You ask. Yes, one can die without food. And one can die in a stocked pantry. Eating ALONE can kill a man. Man does not live by bread, ALONE. We need people. And the fact that the deceased in my painting had a bunch of people in requiem on his or her behalf, proves that he or she was not alone. (Greg's book is called "Crossing Myself." Don't think about the title, just go read it.)
Cheers,
Nords
posted by nordy at 12:31 AM
4 Comments:
The world needs to read your words bro...I'm calling publishers...its time to get this thing rolling.
Nords,
Bro, this life is some kind of purgatory that exists only to suffered through so that you'll be rewarded in the next life.
PT
OK, I'm kidding.
Really, though, don't you think that there is something to this? If I knew the Bible as well as I did 5 years ago, I'd be able to tell you some verses that seem to be ringing in the back of my head. Something like, Endure with patience the trials that are set before you, for testing produces perseverence, etc. Well, something like that.
Probably the word 'only' is the difficulty here. I admit, it would be odd for someone to say that this life is *only* purgatorial, or *only* meant to produce trials, tribulations, etc. But, no doubt, this is one of its essential features. There's a response to the problem of evil that's called the 'soul-making' theodicy, and it says something like this. God created the world so as to allow for moral and natural evil because such an environment is necessary for us to acquire valuable character qualites; qualities that we otherwise couldn't have if the world were absent evil. (Just imagine a world where there are no instances of natural evil. Well, then there's no occassion for anyone to be courageous, since there's nothing to be afraid of, ever. Obviously, much more needs to be said, but that's the idea.) I sort of like the soul-making theodicy, and so think that part of the point of a world like ours with the shit in it is that it allows us to become *good* persons, and not just, well, persons.
Anyhow, those are some thoughts. But, since I just got the point of your sentence, " I will tell that person that he or she is squandering the next life for the sake of this one - to hang on to this sick, prideful, nightmare", they're probably not on target. What do you do.
Pat,
I'm tired of you talking all wise just to cover up all of your foolish nights with dirty, Missouri tramps...
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