Some ramblings regarding enlightenment. Was thinking it might be the start of a warped biography, but that was where it stopped….
This is the life of me.
Where shall I start? Not at the beginning… that’s never very interesting. I know…from the end. Problem is, I haven’t the slightest idea of how that is? Could be sad and boring… lying face down on the bathroom floor with shit caked to my old bony ass and thighs, just after I bent down to pull off my depends. Or maybe, yes, just maybe I will be racing back into a burning building after saving countless kittens and a biting ferret, only to have pipes burst from the wall instantly scalding the better portion… well the majority… of my flesh sending me reeling down a flight of stairs colliding with a fire extinguisher box on the wall only to bounce over the railing where I am skewered by some rebar scratching out of the concrete stairwell and slowly cooked over the roasting embers.
I guess it matters little how; the important thing is that it is the end. That is where I would gather all the moments of my life and play them across the sky of my mind like a lazy day in front of the television… switching from channel to channel… angrily avoiding the dull moments like so many commercials. Stopping now and again, to savor those moments both horrifying and rewarding; to see that time when my sister hired a belly dancer on my 15th birthday, in the middle of the high school gym at lunch time. When on the first date, with the woman I was to marry, we bonked heads going for the goodnight kiss.
All these moments fading in and out… showing me why I was here. This televised rendition of my life as it was seen through others eyes. Just look at how I wore my hair. Was I really that fat? Oh christ, am I really wearing a ‘RELAX DON’T DO IT’ tank top? What the hell was I thinking when I told that little boy to eat bugs? These of course are things I think I would think about as I saw them. But who is to really say what we view? I like to think that in the moment when your last breath is stifled by the loss of muscular coordination due to a lack of blood pumping to your brain, or when the bullet ricochets off the inside of your skull only to come out the same way it went in blowing your fingers off, that you are given just the right amount of time to get the answers you require in order to accept death.
I suppose if the latter is your method… would you not have already accepted death and skip the peep show all together? I mean you obviously enjoyed very little of it. Or perhaps you are forced to watch every moment in order to glean some semblance of understanding. In either case, the time it takes to hit the ground or push out that last breath, I believe we are able to review our lives. No, I can assure you it has nothing to do with God or Buddha or Satan (whatever your flavor might be). What it has to do with is closure.
To end a cycle, you must have finality. As life is the cycle we pedal day in and day out, death is the finality of life, and where death is a moment in time nearly indiscernible, meaning is the finality of death. So life without meaning is the norm. Not because life has no meaning, but because no one, and I mean no one, knows the meaning of life. Hey… not for the lack of trying or albeit assuming, just that what is presumed to be meaning in life has little to do with meaning in death. It is only after death where true meaning is rewarded. No, I am not interested in meaning so much that I wish to skip the life part. Just aware, that what I think is the meaning now is most likely far from the truth. So anyway… my story starts at the end where all good stories usually don’t start. There I was, lying face down in a pool of piss (DK) and I was viewing that moment when all becomes clear…. fade to black.
