(Re) Imagine...
Our hearts go out to those in Sri Lanka, and to those in Paris, one group losing lives and another losing its symbol of life. A local radio show brought out the question of just where we place our concern, this being a state where local land monuments here have been un-designated and reduced in size for the first time in history with a good portion of them removed from federal status. What this means is that if the courts rule accordingly, the once-protected lands will be opened up for oil drilling* and uranium mining and with that, the probable loss of ancient petroglyphs and skeletal remains of cultures far beyond our imaginations. So what's more important, the reporter asked (this being before the cowardly attacks in Sri Lanka)?...a historical and iconic building in France or a few cliffs in a desert which are hard to access? The reporter had no opinion or judgement but was simply presenting a perspective. Jump back to Paris and this is nothing new, its catacombs filled with populations long gone, their lives now as jumbled and as buried and as nameless as whatever life they may have once possessed...kings and queens, miners and minors, the 6 million "overflows" would now be banished and vanished into a new world and word, becoming little more than part of an ossuary. Paris is not unique in this for if one travels to many other countries --Sweden, Italy, Spain, England-- one will also discover catacombs with skeletal remains piled as gingerly and as anonymously as those caught in the brutal reign of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia.
It's a gruesome subject, not only that of facing or encountering death, but of being forgotten. One shocking piece might have captured a small portion of our efforts to name just one aspect of this, a personal reflection in The New Yorker by Donald Antrim and his comments, "I was not there to kill myself. I was there to die, but dying was not a plan...I was, I think --looking back now-- in acceptance." Here is how he described the outer world at the time: Depression, hysteria, melancholia, nervousness, neurosis, neurasthenia, madness, lunacy, insanity, delirium, derangement, demonic possession, black humors, black bile, yellow bile, the black dog, the blues, the blue devils, a brown study, the vapors, a funk, a storm, the abyss, an inferno, Hell, a pain syndrome, stress, an anxiety disorder, lack of affect, an affective disorder, a mood disorder, panic, loneliness, bad wiring, a screw loose, a mercurial temperament, irritability, schizophrenia, unipolar disorder, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, attention-deficit disorder, borderline personality disorder, laziness, pain, rumination, grief, mourning, malingering, unhappiness, hopelessness, sadness, low spirits, invalidism, despondency, dysthymia, detachment, disassociation, dementia praecox, neuralgia, fibromyalgia, oversensitivity, hypersensitivity, idiocy, an unsound mind, cowardice, obstinacy, apathy, recalcitrance, spleen, a broken heart, battle fatigue, shell shock, self-pity, self-indulgence, self-centeredness, weakness, withdrawal, distraction, distemper, a turn in the barrel, a break in a life narrative, bad thoughts, bad feelings, coming undone, coming apart, falling apart, falling to pieces, willfulness, defiance, thoughts of hurting oneself or others, the thousand-yard stare, craziness, rage, misery, mania, morbidity, genius, suicidality, suicidal ideation, aggression, regression, decompensation, drama, breakdown, crackup, catatonia, losing one’s mind, losing one’s shit, losing one’s way, wasting away, psychic disorganization, spiritual despair, shame, raving, the furies, a disease, an enigma, a tragedy, a curse, a sin, and, of course, psychosis—suicide, in the past and in our time, has been called many things. Whatever terms we use, whatever the specific nature of their origins and progress, our so-called mental illnesses are themselves traumatic and stigmatizing. They isolate us from others.
So picture this title for a book's chapter: I'm Dead...Now What? It comes from a book called Reimagining Death by Lucinda Herring, with that particular segment talking about how few of us consider dealing with that transition period between life and death. A parent or spouse or pet has passed away and now what? Your will or trust may have your instructions of what you want done but where is that legally signed and notarized document? (in the U.S., if such a document is complete but not notarized, then it is basically non-existent and such decisions will be taken over by the state government) If your instructions are in a safe deposit box then you're out of luck because the bank can only allow access to that box if you're a co-signer or a person possessing a death certificate (which generally comes from a funeral home or mortuary or a cremation service). Hang onto that body too long and the police will come and that death certificate will come from a coroner (eventually), and you may end up in jail for not reporting the death in time. Author Herring notes that this rush to "get the body out" is such a break from our earlier ways when time was spent with the body...days, not hours. And she goes on to ask what happens once the body is removed...an empty house or apartment or room, and lots of cleanup (and more memories and reflections) to now deal with. In Japan, where deaths have outpaced births for the seventh consecutive year, cleaning up the remnants of a deceased person's life is a big business, with many surviving relatives just wanting it done, said a story in Bloomberg Businessweek. The article was titled Dying Alone in Japan.
Why on earth would I be reading such material? Perhaps because as one grows older the thought of life ending surprisingly becomes a bit more serious. That shield of immortality is suddenly now quite tarnished and rusted and even for me with my official post-life documents made and discussed, death still appears more and more like a like a magic trick...so real and so unreal. Close friends and family members seem to now encounter more than a few extra creaks and moans, joints replacements appear to be more common, and doctors are using the big "c" word to a few too many people once their lab results are back. If you're part of that joyous younger crowd then you're likely scratching your head, as well you should. These tales of life going by quickly seem like quaint old sayings and often seem to be said by mostly old or older people. But as one ages --and I think this can be viewed from pretty much any age-- it is pretty impressive on looking back at how so many years have already passed since you graduated, or you got married, or your aunt passed away, or your dog had to be put down. People and pets close to you seem to bring the concept of time passing much closer to home than distant news or tragedies ever can. As one broadcast mentioned, the tearing down of the Berlin Wall is now little more than a digital clip inserted as part of a distant captured era once called the 90s (wait, that was nearly 30 years ago).
Wrote David Spangler in the introduction to the above book: This is the idea tbat life, death, and the world are inextricably and interdependently linked in a wholeness. How we deal with one affects how we deal with the others. Appreciating, honoring and attending to this wholeness is something our ancestors instinctively appreciated. Many of their customs around both life and death reflected this. It's an awareness and worldview our culture, faced with the challenges and dangers of ignoring this interconnectedness, is struggling to reclaim. The late Hawaiian singer, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Iz) had a song on his album Facing Future (best selling album of all time by a Hawaiian artist), a song composed by Mickey Ioane which asked some of these questions: Ua mau, ke ea o ka aina, i ka pono, o Hawai'i (The Life of the Land is Perpetuated in Righteousness); If just for a day our king and queen would visit all these islands and saw everything, how would they feel about the changes of our land? Could you just imagine if they were around and saw highways on their sacred grounds, how would they feel about this modern city life? Tears would come from each others eyes as they would stop to realize that our people are in great, great danger now. How would they feel? Could their smiles be content, then cry? [Chorus:] Cry for the gods, cry for the people, cry for the land that was taken away; and then yet you'll find, Hawai'i.
That venture alone, my birthplace, my childhood and now my distance from it, my readings, my thoughts, all are now seeming to be coagulating into another exploration and discovery, one that is leading to alkaline hydrolysis and promession (taken from the Italian word promessa or a promise), and to sibling rivalry and the number two killer of men. It's an amazing world, both for the person in the field and the person glimpsing that person from a passing train (or the person not seeing any of those two from a plane). From space perhaps none of this is seen, not even our planet. Or is it all the same, all one, all interconnected? Go on, you say, explain yourself...and I will, but in due time. Where once there was much, there is now precious little; but the key word there is precious. Young or old, healthy or frail, life and death are both precious, yin and yang. Stop reading and step outside to enjoy spring...life is awaiting!
*My state of Utah is estimated to have 13 billion barrels of oil trapped in its sands (the U.S. is estimated to produce 11 million barrels a day). Despite these estimates and even with a 75% alternative tax credit for oil companies, drillers were only able to extract 91,000 barrels daily in 2017, said a piece in Bloomberg Businessweek. The 2019 totals have been even lower...National Geographic did a broader cover story in a recent issue, a piece it titled, Inside the New Battle for the American West.
It's a gruesome subject, not only that of facing or encountering death, but of being forgotten. One shocking piece might have captured a small portion of our efforts to name just one aspect of this, a personal reflection in The New Yorker by Donald Antrim and his comments, "I was not there to kill myself. I was there to die, but dying was not a plan...I was, I think --looking back now-- in acceptance." Here is how he described the outer world at the time: Depression, hysteria, melancholia, nervousness, neurosis, neurasthenia, madness, lunacy, insanity, delirium, derangement, demonic possession, black humors, black bile, yellow bile, the black dog, the blues, the blue devils, a brown study, the vapors, a funk, a storm, the abyss, an inferno, Hell, a pain syndrome, stress, an anxiety disorder, lack of affect, an affective disorder, a mood disorder, panic, loneliness, bad wiring, a screw loose, a mercurial temperament, irritability, schizophrenia, unipolar disorder, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, attention-deficit disorder, borderline personality disorder, laziness, pain, rumination, grief, mourning, malingering, unhappiness, hopelessness, sadness, low spirits, invalidism, despondency, dysthymia, detachment, disassociation, dementia praecox, neuralgia, fibromyalgia, oversensitivity, hypersensitivity, idiocy, an unsound mind, cowardice, obstinacy, apathy, recalcitrance, spleen, a broken heart, battle fatigue, shell shock, self-pity, self-indulgence, self-centeredness, weakness, withdrawal, distraction, distemper, a turn in the barrel, a break in a life narrative, bad thoughts, bad feelings, coming undone, coming apart, falling apart, falling to pieces, willfulness, defiance, thoughts of hurting oneself or others, the thousand-yard stare, craziness, rage, misery, mania, morbidity, genius, suicidality, suicidal ideation, aggression, regression, decompensation, drama, breakdown, crackup, catatonia, losing one’s mind, losing one’s shit, losing one’s way, wasting away, psychic disorganization, spiritual despair, shame, raving, the furies, a disease, an enigma, a tragedy, a curse, a sin, and, of course, psychosis—suicide, in the past and in our time, has been called many things. Whatever terms we use, whatever the specific nature of their origins and progress, our so-called mental illnesses are themselves traumatic and stigmatizing. They isolate us from others.
So picture this title for a book's chapter: I'm Dead...Now What? It comes from a book called Reimagining Death by Lucinda Herring, with that particular segment talking about how few of us consider dealing with that transition period between life and death. A parent or spouse or pet has passed away and now what? Your will or trust may have your instructions of what you want done but where is that legally signed and notarized document? (in the U.S., if such a document is complete but not notarized, then it is basically non-existent and such decisions will be taken over by the state government) If your instructions are in a safe deposit box then you're out of luck because the bank can only allow access to that box if you're a co-signer or a person possessing a death certificate (which generally comes from a funeral home or mortuary or a cremation service). Hang onto that body too long and the police will come and that death certificate will come from a coroner (eventually), and you may end up in jail for not reporting the death in time. Author Herring notes that this rush to "get the body out" is such a break from our earlier ways when time was spent with the body...days, not hours. And she goes on to ask what happens once the body is removed...an empty house or apartment or room, and lots of cleanup (and more memories and reflections) to now deal with. In Japan, where deaths have outpaced births for the seventh consecutive year, cleaning up the remnants of a deceased person's life is a big business, with many surviving relatives just wanting it done, said a story in Bloomberg Businessweek. The article was titled Dying Alone in Japan.
Why on earth would I be reading such material? Perhaps because as one grows older the thought of life ending surprisingly becomes a bit more serious. That shield of immortality is suddenly now quite tarnished and rusted and even for me with my official post-life documents made and discussed, death still appears more and more like a like a magic trick...so real and so unreal. Close friends and family members seem to now encounter more than a few extra creaks and moans, joints replacements appear to be more common, and doctors are using the big "c" word to a few too many people once their lab results are back. If you're part of that joyous younger crowd then you're likely scratching your head, as well you should. These tales of life going by quickly seem like quaint old sayings and often seem to be said by mostly old or older people. But as one ages --and I think this can be viewed from pretty much any age-- it is pretty impressive on looking back at how so many years have already passed since you graduated, or you got married, or your aunt passed away, or your dog had to be put down. People and pets close to you seem to bring the concept of time passing much closer to home than distant news or tragedies ever can. As one broadcast mentioned, the tearing down of the Berlin Wall is now little more than a digital clip inserted as part of a distant captured era once called the 90s (wait, that was nearly 30 years ago).
Wrote David Spangler in the introduction to the above book: This is the idea tbat life, death, and the world are inextricably and interdependently linked in a wholeness. How we deal with one affects how we deal with the others. Appreciating, honoring and attending to this wholeness is something our ancestors instinctively appreciated. Many of their customs around both life and death reflected this. It's an awareness and worldview our culture, faced with the challenges and dangers of ignoring this interconnectedness, is struggling to reclaim. The late Hawaiian singer, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Iz) had a song on his album Facing Future (best selling album of all time by a Hawaiian artist), a song composed by Mickey Ioane which asked some of these questions: Ua mau, ke ea o ka aina, i ka pono, o Hawai'i (The Life of the Land is Perpetuated in Righteousness); If just for a day our king and queen would visit all these islands and saw everything, how would they feel about the changes of our land? Could you just imagine if they were around and saw highways on their sacred grounds, how would they feel about this modern city life? Tears would come from each others eyes as they would stop to realize that our people are in great, great danger now. How would they feel? Could their smiles be content, then cry? [Chorus:] Cry for the gods, cry for the people, cry for the land that was taken away; and then yet you'll find, Hawai'i.
That venture alone, my birthplace, my childhood and now my distance from it, my readings, my thoughts, all are now seeming to be coagulating into another exploration and discovery, one that is leading to alkaline hydrolysis and promession (taken from the Italian word promessa or a promise), and to sibling rivalry and the number two killer of men. It's an amazing world, both for the person in the field and the person glimpsing that person from a passing train (or the person not seeing any of those two from a plane). From space perhaps none of this is seen, not even our planet. Or is it all the same, all one, all interconnected? Go on, you say, explain yourself...and I will, but in due time. Where once there was much, there is now precious little; but the key word there is precious. Young or old, healthy or frail, life and death are both precious, yin and yang. Stop reading and step outside to enjoy spring...life is awaiting!
*My state of Utah is estimated to have 13 billion barrels of oil trapped in its sands (the U.S. is estimated to produce 11 million barrels a day). Despite these estimates and even with a 75% alternative tax credit for oil companies, drillers were only able to extract 91,000 barrels daily in 2017, said a piece in Bloomberg Businessweek. The 2019 totals have been even lower...National Geographic did a broader cover story in a recent issue, a piece it titled, Inside the New Battle for the American West.
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