To Dust You Shall Return
Most people like the "fun" holidays. Christmas. Easter. Thanksgiving. That debauched evil Halmark conspiracy that was last Wednesday. But not me. My favorite day of the year is today. Ash Wednesday.
I like it so much I even got up at 7 in the morning (for those that no me, this is like...well it's probably just unthinkable if you know me) to go and have ashes put on my forehead and to be reminded that "You are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Maybe I like it, in part, precisely BECAUSE in our consumer culture of mostly meaningless self-affirmation that usually is little more than buying a new toy, it is just so...well so unthinkable to want to be reminded of this. We spend billions trying to forget it. I just watched a program a couple of weeks ago in which a man was taking twenty pills a day along with hormonal injections and was considering various surgeries to "stay young." He was only 34. That's only seven years older than I am!
But can we really blame him? Our mass media marketing machine blasts its message of youth, health and vitality 24/7 all around the world. In a strictly material world, devoid of spirit, devoid of myth, the only salvation is here and now. Salvation in a diet pill. Salvation in surgery. Salvation in organic foods. Salvation in a life coach. (A life coach!?) And the one single fact that none of those peddlers of periodic prolongation and postponement of the post mortem cannot let sink in to its ravenous recipients is the message of Ash Wednesday. You are dust. And to dust you SHALL return.
All of the healthy living, the botox, the surgery, the miracle drugs that give you an erection for 8 hours (or are you supposed to call the doctor if that happens?) , all of them are destined to fail. They can't save you. They can recussitate, but they cannot resurrect. (Despite Cartman's attempts at achieving res-erection in a wonderful South Park episode.)
Which is not to say that doing any of those things is evil. But Ash Wednesday, and the Lenten season is a chance to look at your intentions, your motivations, your end goals. If you're on a diet to avoid death, you're doomed to be disappointed. If you're on a diet because it helps you to embrace and live life more fully, then you're onto something.
In JRR Tolkien's world of Middle Earth, along with the race of men (who, albeit with a sexist to modern ears designation, are mostly just like us) there also dwell the race of elves. The elves live forever, unless they should be killed in war or take their own life. The men, envying the elves' immortality, call this difference "Man's Doom." The elves, envying man's mortality, call it "Man's Gift."
And why is it a gift? Isn't it obvious? In a world where the biggest complaint already is "I'm bored," how can mortality NOT be seen as a gift? It makes life precious. It makes life important. In some ways, it even makes life worth living.
This body, this world, all that is matter, is just so much dust. But it's stardust. Literally. We are made of dead stars. The palm branches go into the fire and become the ashes for next year's Lent. Which is now this year's Lent.
I'm rambling again. I had a point when I started, I think. Oh, right. Here it is.
You can live in love, or you can live in fear. Most of us, most of the time, myself included, live in fear. It is the natural state of things. Survive and reproduce. But there is one simple and inevitable truth in life:
There are no survivors.
None. Anywhere. Ever. And even if you want to count offspring, remember that the Earth itself will be burnt to ashes by the sun in 5 billion years if we don't beat the sun to it. And even should we learn to soar to the stars before that time and populate whole galaxies, those, too will end either in a fiery big crunch or a frigid and gradual fizzling out. To live in fear, to have as our main goals the avoidance of death and passing on genes is...well it's doomed.
To live in love is to let go of fear. But six years after I figured that much out, I still don't know how to live in love. Maybe this Lent I'll take another step.
I like it so much I even got up at 7 in the morning (for those that no me, this is like...well it's probably just unthinkable if you know me) to go and have ashes put on my forehead and to be reminded that "You are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Maybe I like it, in part, precisely BECAUSE in our consumer culture of mostly meaningless self-affirmation that usually is little more than buying a new toy, it is just so...well so unthinkable to want to be reminded of this. We spend billions trying to forget it. I just watched a program a couple of weeks ago in which a man was taking twenty pills a day along with hormonal injections and was considering various surgeries to "stay young." He was only 34. That's only seven years older than I am!
But can we really blame him? Our mass media marketing machine blasts its message of youth, health and vitality 24/7 all around the world. In a strictly material world, devoid of spirit, devoid of myth, the only salvation is here and now. Salvation in a diet pill. Salvation in surgery. Salvation in organic foods. Salvation in a life coach. (A life coach!?) And the one single fact that none of those peddlers of periodic prolongation and postponement of the post mortem cannot let sink in to its ravenous recipients is the message of Ash Wednesday. You are dust. And to dust you SHALL return.
All of the healthy living, the botox, the surgery, the miracle drugs that give you an erection for 8 hours (or are you supposed to call the doctor if that happens?) , all of them are destined to fail. They can't save you. They can recussitate, but they cannot resurrect. (Despite Cartman's attempts at achieving res-erection in a wonderful South Park episode.)
Which is not to say that doing any of those things is evil. But Ash Wednesday, and the Lenten season is a chance to look at your intentions, your motivations, your end goals. If you're on a diet to avoid death, you're doomed to be disappointed. If you're on a diet because it helps you to embrace and live life more fully, then you're onto something.
In JRR Tolkien's world of Middle Earth, along with the race of men (who, albeit with a sexist to modern ears designation, are mostly just like us) there also dwell the race of elves. The elves live forever, unless they should be killed in war or take their own life. The men, envying the elves' immortality, call this difference "Man's Doom." The elves, envying man's mortality, call it "Man's Gift."
And why is it a gift? Isn't it obvious? In a world where the biggest complaint already is "I'm bored," how can mortality NOT be seen as a gift? It makes life precious. It makes life important. In some ways, it even makes life worth living.
This body, this world, all that is matter, is just so much dust. But it's stardust. Literally. We are made of dead stars. The palm branches go into the fire and become the ashes for next year's Lent. Which is now this year's Lent.
I'm rambling again. I had a point when I started, I think. Oh, right. Here it is.
You can live in love, or you can live in fear. Most of us, most of the time, myself included, live in fear. It is the natural state of things. Survive and reproduce. But there is one simple and inevitable truth in life:
There are no survivors.
None. Anywhere. Ever. And even if you want to count offspring, remember that the Earth itself will be burnt to ashes by the sun in 5 billion years if we don't beat the sun to it. And even should we learn to soar to the stars before that time and populate whole galaxies, those, too will end either in a fiery big crunch or a frigid and gradual fizzling out. To live in fear, to have as our main goals the avoidance of death and passing on genes is...well it's doomed.
To live in love is to let go of fear. But six years after I figured that much out, I still don't know how to live in love. Maybe this Lent I'll take another step.