Write it on my grave
I've been thinking about death a lot lately. Not in a razors blades and pills kind of way, but in a 'life is so short and it's passing me by and by' kind of way. I guess it's inevitable to let such thoughts glide through my mind when I spend my summers with elderly grandparents and constantly wait for the phone to ring from my dad one last time. Not that it has all summer, but I digress.
So I was listening to my iTunes yesterday and all these songs about life kept repeating and tripping in my head over and over until it dawned on me--I can organize and express my thoughts in response to snipits of song lyrics. So that's what I'm going to do.
If I could do just one near perfect thing I'd be happy
They'd write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes
Maybe that's what it's all about. Living so many moments, days, weeks, months, and years just for that one glimpse of perfection. That one thing that will make all the actions and thoughts of before and after worth the pain and mistakes. And in death that one thing can be celebrated, written in marble and across the horizon, or it can be forgotten--like it never existed. When we die, does our knowledge go with us or does it spread into the universe in some form until someone else picks up on the strands and thought begins anew? I think it's both. Maybe we're contained by life in what is remembered about us, a form of heaven or hell on earth that can still be felt in the afterlife until not even a whisper of us can be touched in memory. Then we stop existing on earth and finally achieve heaven...or hell, depending. All because of that one perfect thing or the millions of things that collected in life-span. Or maybe even yet, it doesn't truly matter to anyone but us even if we are never forgotten after death, never erased. It's not about the fame, some of the most famous historical figures never knew success or appreciation in their lifetime, it was only after they were gone that they were acknowledged and admired for achievement that they never truly were aware of. And still, we can only guess as to what motivated and moved them. They're only cardboard figures in time which might be worse then being an unknown in the line of history. Which goes back to my earlier point that only we and those close to us can truly see the importance of it all in the way it was meant to be. That 'perfect' thing.
On second thought
I could just hang out with my best friend
Or it's just the moment that matters and perfect actions or things be damned. It's a more selfish look at life, that what we want now is all that matters and who cares about collective good. Of course, things have a way of stemming and flowing into each other so living in the moment can prolong our own peace and contentment as well as impact the greater world. Great actions without thought of importance. Maybe that's the true key to a meaningful life.
Things fall apart, I don't know why we bother at all
But life is good and 'It's always worth living at least for a while'
I think about living forever a lot, I think it's common when you consider vampire lore and the like. How awful it would be to never die, to never anticipate an ending...maybe that would prevent actual living. Knowing time never runs out, where's the fulfillment? It seems, to me, that when people approach 60 years of life, they're tired and are ready to let go and see what's in the after life, if they believe in such a thing that is. That's why the wisdom of the elderly fascinates me, maybe they understand something about life that young people can't. We can't imagine an ending, when the lives of people around us ceases we grieve for that loss even if they were ready to go. It seems abrupt and cruel, but maybe it's facing our own immortality that shakes us to the core. We're full of vigor and upcoming years to fill with all the things we want to accomplish. But life has to end, it's inevitable and maybe accepting that helps us live.
You could call me morbid, but I'll continue contemplating such matters because the quest of my mind is to wonder, educate, and consider possibility. I'll never know the true answers to all the questions that flit through my brain, but writing them out helps them stick somewhere if even for a fleeting second, the time it takes for people to ignore the post which is understandable given content and the confusion that my own thoughts bring me. And I think...one day, in decades, this journal may no longer exist and everything I ever had to say will be gone. It will all cease to exist when I expire because thinking is living and without that there's nothing in this life...even if I believe in the next, the planes are different so it can't be the same. The amazing thing is I'm actually okay with that, the part I'm not okay with is that I still haven't released everything I think about this matter, but thoughts have again left me. Which is fortunate since my rambling has gone on long enough.
Note: The song I referenced in this post you can find in my last entry.
So I was listening to my iTunes yesterday and all these songs about life kept repeating and tripping in my head over and over until it dawned on me--I can organize and express my thoughts in response to snipits of song lyrics. So that's what I'm going to do.
If I could do just one near perfect thing I'd be happy
They'd write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes
Maybe that's what it's all about. Living so many moments, days, weeks, months, and years just for that one glimpse of perfection. That one thing that will make all the actions and thoughts of before and after worth the pain and mistakes. And in death that one thing can be celebrated, written in marble and across the horizon, or it can be forgotten--like it never existed. When we die, does our knowledge go with us or does it spread into the universe in some form until someone else picks up on the strands and thought begins anew? I think it's both. Maybe we're contained by life in what is remembered about us, a form of heaven or hell on earth that can still be felt in the afterlife until not even a whisper of us can be touched in memory. Then we stop existing on earth and finally achieve heaven...or hell, depending. All because of that one perfect thing or the millions of things that collected in life-span. Or maybe even yet, it doesn't truly matter to anyone but us even if we are never forgotten after death, never erased. It's not about the fame, some of the most famous historical figures never knew success or appreciation in their lifetime, it was only after they were gone that they were acknowledged and admired for achievement that they never truly were aware of. And still, we can only guess as to what motivated and moved them. They're only cardboard figures in time which might be worse then being an unknown in the line of history. Which goes back to my earlier point that only we and those close to us can truly see the importance of it all in the way it was meant to be. That 'perfect' thing.
On second thought
I could just hang out with my best friend
Or it's just the moment that matters and perfect actions or things be damned. It's a more selfish look at life, that what we want now is all that matters and who cares about collective good. Of course, things have a way of stemming and flowing into each other so living in the moment can prolong our own peace and contentment as well as impact the greater world. Great actions without thought of importance. Maybe that's the true key to a meaningful life.
Things fall apart, I don't know why we bother at all
But life is good and 'It's always worth living at least for a while'
I think about living forever a lot, I think it's common when you consider vampire lore and the like. How awful it would be to never die, to never anticipate an ending...maybe that would prevent actual living. Knowing time never runs out, where's the fulfillment? It seems, to me, that when people approach 60 years of life, they're tired and are ready to let go and see what's in the after life, if they believe in such a thing that is. That's why the wisdom of the elderly fascinates me, maybe they understand something about life that young people can't. We can't imagine an ending, when the lives of people around us ceases we grieve for that loss even if they were ready to go. It seems abrupt and cruel, but maybe it's facing our own immortality that shakes us to the core. We're full of vigor and upcoming years to fill with all the things we want to accomplish. But life has to end, it's inevitable and maybe accepting that helps us live.
You could call me morbid, but I'll continue contemplating such matters because the quest of my mind is to wonder, educate, and consider possibility. I'll never know the true answers to all the questions that flit through my brain, but writing them out helps them stick somewhere if even for a fleeting second, the time it takes for people to ignore the post which is understandable given content and the confusion that my own thoughts bring me. And I think...one day, in decades, this journal may no longer exist and everything I ever had to say will be gone. It will all cease to exist when I expire because thinking is living and without that there's nothing in this life...even if I believe in the next, the planes are different so it can't be the same. The amazing thing is I'm actually okay with that, the part I'm not okay with is that I still haven't released everything I think about this matter, but thoughts have again left me. Which is fortunate since my rambling has gone on long enough.
Note: The song I referenced in this post you can find in my last entry.