Alexandersmap

    Tag: Memento Mori

    • In Magnificent Glow

      “I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.” — Jack London

      Happy Labor Day for those who observe it. We might use this occasion to confirm that the path we are on is a sound one. We might even dare for more in our lives than the answer to that very American question, “So what do you do?”

      I was challenged recently about purpose. Specifically, what will I do one day when I retire. If our careers are widely thought of as our purpose and identity, it follows that when we retire (or otherwise lose a job) both purpose and identity would take a massive hit.

      Perhaps. Then again, if your purpose and identity were never quite wrapped around some job or title, then maybe we will be just fine without some resume filler with dates attached. Maybe there’s far more to us than a string of career milestones.

      Do we aspire to be ground to dust in some job du jour, or follow passion to its logical end? I tell you, we must embrace the brevity of life! Not celebrate it, mind you, but know deep within that this is it, and we must then do with it all that we may in our brief dance. Memento mori…. So carpe diem the heck out of each day.

    • The Alexander Hamilton Farewell Tour

      “Those who stand for nothing fall for everything.” — Alexander Hamilton

      An interesting, if slightly morbid twist on travel is to visit the graves of famous people who died young, and combine it with a visit to the place where they met their demise. Some places, like Normandy, with the D-Day beaches and cemeteries, are obvious opportunities to combine the two. Other opportunities sneak up on you through serendipity.

      A visit to Metro New York afforded such an opportunity. Walking past Trinity Church on the way to Ground Zero and the 9/11 Memorial, we realized the opportunity to pay our respects to Alexander Hamilton at his gravesite in the graveyard adjacent to the church. As with most graveyards, we walk in history along ground that has largely remained the same since the interred last saw daylight. In Lower Manhattan, with modern skyscrapers all around you, the opportunity to walk amongst 400 years of untouched history is sobering.

      The next day, we took the ferry from Manhattan over to Weehawken, New Jersey to the place where Aaron Burr shot him in the most famous duel in American history. To see the rock where Hamilton bled out on encaged at the top reminded me a bit of Plymouth Rock. Who knows if it’s really the rock or not? But it offered an opportunity to see roughly where he died, which was about 20 feet above the Hudson River.

      It turned out all that climbing wasn’t necessary to actually see the Weehawken Dueling Grounds, but those grounds are either train tracks or otherwise paved over at this point. No matter, the views from the Hamilton Memorial were absolutely worth the climb up the stairs to the top of the cliff. It turned out to be a fine way to say farewell to New York and its famous resident too.

      Alexander Hamilton’s memorial
      Eliza Hamilton
      That rock
      The million dollar view from Weehawken

    • A Thrilling Something

      Do you still remember: falling stars,
      how they leapt slantwise through the sky
      like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles
      of our wishes—did we have so many?—
      for stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere;
      almost every gaze upward became
      wedded to the swift hazard of their play,
      and our heart felt like a single thing
      beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance—
      and was whole, as if it would survive them!
      — Rainer Maria Rilke

      August is ending, and so are longer days. I don’t mind the darkness so much, for it opens up other opportunities. Have a look up and see all that we miss scurrying about in the daylight. Just this morning the brilliant kaleidoscope of sunrise greeted the pup and me as we ventured beyond the threshold. She had her nose to the ground, while my own was pointed at the skies. We survey all but the middle, the pup and I.

      The Perseids came and went this year, with the inevitable ill-timed overcast skies blocking the show at peak where I live. Still, I saw a few shooting stars this month—enough to keep me looking for more. A meteor is a shock to the senses as it streaks across the sky. Where a moment before there was vast sameness, for an instant there’s a thrilling something burst upon the scene, before it disappears as quickly as it came.

      We aren’t so different from shooting stars, are we? We think we will live forever until we realize we won’t. That realization in itself is a jolt to the vast sameness of living. Memento mori. Make this streak through the dark a little brighter, buckaroo! We ourselves are a thrilling something, if we seize the day. Hurry now: the ride goes quickly.

    • Rigidity Will Be the Death of Us

      Here is an amazement—once I was twenty years old and in
      every motion of my body there was a delicious ease,
      and in every motion of the green earth there was
      a hint of paradise,
      and now I am sixty years old, and it is the same.
      — Mary Oliver, Am I Not Among the Early Risers

      Back-to-back posts quoting Mary Oliver? There’s no arguing that she is a frequent guest in my writing and in my mind. In fact, I quote her so often that I make it a point to avoid quoting her. The blog isn’t a fan page for a specific poet, it’s a series of observations put into words one day to the next.

      Earlier this summer I simply stopped writing. I’d had a writing streak of a couple of thousand posts and ended it deliberately. Even as I began writing again the inclination to publish every day became less essential. When I have something to say I’ll say it. I don’t expect the world will grind to a halt. The only thing we are assured of is an ending one day. Memento mori.

      Once I was twenty. Where does the time go? The trick is a healthy body and sharp mind, kicking bad health down the curb as long as possible. But more, it’s walking through life with a healthy sense of curiosity and wonder. Life is fluid, and we ought to be too. Rigidity will be the death of us. Endings are simply beginnings for something else. Stay open, keep moving, and be curious.

    • You Are Young. Live!

      “Live all you can. It’s a mistake not to. It doesn’t matter what you do — but live. This place makes it all come over me. I see it now. I haven’t done so — and now I’m old. It’s too late. It has gone past me — I’ve lost it. You have time. You are young. Live!” — William Dean Howells

      I’m writing this on the opposite end of the day from the norm. The reason is a keen inclination to live today, despite the usual distractions that life throws at us. And oh, the distractions! But it’s now or never, when it comes to living. Tempus fugit.

      It doesn’t matter what we do, so long as we live. There are no do-overs, there are no second-chances, there are only regrets if we wait any longer. There is only now.

      As The Grass Roots put it, Sha-la, la-la-la-la, live for today. Sure, plan for tomorrow, but never defer that living part. We are young, or at least as young as we’ll ever be. So carpe flippin’ diem, already.

    • Something Gritty and Tangible

      Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
      Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
      So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
      Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
      — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Theologian’s Tale; Elizabeth

      We modern time travelers are forever busy, distracted and hustling on to the next. We ought to remember that many encounters we have will be our one and only exchange with a fellow time-traveler. Or it may be the last of many. The lesson? Savor the time together, however fleeting it may be. For we will never pass this way again.

      Since his untimely passing last week, I’ve been on a Glen Hansard binge. This often happens when an artist passes—we are reminded of their work, and seek to know more about what they’ve left behind that we may have missed. And with Glen Hansard, there is a whole catalog of brilliant, stunning music and film to choose from. Dare I say, he was the Van Morrison of Gen X.

      One might say the deck is stacked against us reaching even a small percentage of our potential, let alone our potential time with others. We must prioritize, and hope that we encounter the right ships in the night along our way, and at just the right time. This requires our receptiveness, active awareness and diligence, before the opportunity slips away forever.

      We can’t possibly experience everything, or know everyone. Inevitably something slips right through our grasp. Like sand, we can’t grab hold of it too tightly or too much squeezes through. But we can grab our share and hold on just tightly enough to feel we’ve got something gritty and tangible on our hands even as the rest flows past us in a whir. Sometimes, maybe that’s enough.

    • RIP Glen Hansard

      I’m workin’ on the high hope
      And if it all works out, you might just see me
      Or hear from me in a while
      I’m gonna make it across this tight rope
      Then I’m comin’ for my prize
      No more I’ll be waitin’ ’round
      While life just passes by
      Maybe when our hearts realign
      Maybe when we’ve both had some time
      I’m gonna see you there
      — Glen Hansard, High Hope

      Hearing this morning that Glen Hansard was killed in a motorcycle accident in Dublin earlier today, leaving behind a wife and young child. Hansard joined the soundtrack I keep just for myself, in quiet times, when I’d grown weary of the noise and clutter of the world. He’ll live on there in my soundtrack, and perhaps yours too. Still, I think of those he leaves behind, and the shock of it all.

      I’m reminded of that Sting song at moments like this, about how fragile we are. Memento mori. And I’m reminded again to meet this moment squarely, for the gift that it represents. This is indeed all we have. Rest in Peace Glen Hansard.

    • That Better Character

      “In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.” ― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

      Most people remember the latter half of this quote, but I love the entire paragraph. Perhaps because it’s a reminder that we’re all deeply-layered characters, with good bits and not-so-good. Life is a journey of discovering each layer and being proud or chagrined by what we find. In the end, how we’re remembered is for what we show the world of ourselves.

      Memento mori. So show up. Be that better character in the time that we have left. Not to be remembered differently, but to be more engaged and interested in all that we encounter, top to bottom. This is our life, such that it is. So what of it will we double down on? Set the course accordingly.

    • Our Ever After

      “Whoever is too well off always wants to try something different!” — Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage

      This strange little fairy tale about a bird, mouse and a sausage living together is undeniably odd (beginning with the sausage), yet it carries important lessons. When did we stop paying attention to the lessons? Adults always forget them, which is why the world feels that it’s a step or two away from disaster. Yet somehow we carry on anyway.

      For those inclined not to follow random links in blog posts, the lesson is essentially the quote above. And maybe to not let your sausage friend wander around in the woods. Or to choose friends that aren’t so tasty to others. Really, the lessons are where you find them. But for our purposes, let’s stick with the quote above.

      There’s a whole lot of people who are so comfortable in their lives that they feel compelled to find things to be outraged about. Call it smug indignation if you like. We’ve learn who they are because they’re inclined to tell us just how terrible things are. Life is outrageous. Life is unfair. Don’t we deserve better than this?

      Life will eat us alive one day (Memento mori). We ought to know that by now. Just what are we going to do about it? It’s all a matter of focus. Instead of scarcity and unfairness, why not try gratitude for what is going well for us today. Tomorrow will take care of itself. If we arrive there to see it.

      Being grateful and content with where we are is something we grow into as we experience life. The restlessness of our youth may be replaced by the wisdom of our age. At least if we stop listening to talking heads telling us how outraged we ought to be. Life is nothing but a big fairy tale. We believe the stories we want to believe, and that largely determines whether we’ll live happily ever after. In case anyone missed the lesson, our ever after is largely up to us.

    • Stay in Touch

      I was talking with my bride about a close family member who is slipping into his final days. She wondered if, having outlived many of his friends, his funeral and wake would be well-attended. The most crowded funerals are for the young, aren’t they? Those who die too soon leave behind a mass of people who know who they were in that moment. But what of the old? Are we doomed to live a lonely “too long”, like a character in Eleanor Rigby?

      I don’t believe it to be so. We should keep refreshing our mass of people right to the end. Our ripple is a lifetime obligation of making and maintaining connection. Not for a crowded funeral, but for the ripple that carries on well after the ceremony is a memory. And more, for the ripple that courses through us for having known the people we form relationships with.

      When we lose touch with people, they slip away from our lives. Sometimes this is desired, sometimes life just gets in the way. It’s up to us to stay in touch. Of course, it’s up to them too. The phone works both ways, as they say. But I believe we each ought to lead the charge on such things. Instead of saying the phone works both ways, why not say, if not us, then who? We have agency. If that person we wish to stay connected with opts out, well, we honored our part. And life goes on.

      When I think about people I used to know who are no longer in my life, I think of them just the same whether that person is alive or has passed away. Our time together has ended, but the memories remain. Hopefully there’s enough joy in those memories that we are warmed in our recollection. It’s unfinished business that haunts us, not the good memories. Relationships aren’t meant to be transactional—’tis always best to finish our business before we say goodbye, perhaps for the last time.

      The streak that was this blog being published every day ended earlier this week. Honestly, I didn’t expect to be back so soon with two posts this week. I’ve decided that the streak isn’t what matters to me anymore, it’s having something to say and writing it that matters to me. Like reaching out to an old friend, we have agency over how we approach everything that resonates in our lives. The blog is less a daily ritual to me now than it was when I paused it. Perhaps this and future posts are simply my way to stay in touch.

      We’ll have to see if it ripples.