Portals

Sunday, October 2, 2016

The Head Stones Speak

Haven't wrote in a while. The world is just a sorry fuck, you know.

Anyway, down the Rabbit hole we go.

Each year, I visit the Cemeteries of those I have known and lost. It never gets any easier. Of all the people I’ve known -less than a handful- the most important have already parted from this world.

Entertainment culture, pop culture, societal trends, religion, politics, money, power, celebrity status -all of that stuff is ultimately garbage and worthless when the most powerful reality of all sets in. “Death.” This is why I visit graves.

My breath begins to struggle, my hands sweat, and my guts twist and turn in knots inside and out, and my eyes…become never-ending streams that I wish had divine god-like powers. Perhaps it is silly to think tears would raise up dearly departed.

The only catharsis afterwards is that of feeling washed out and numb. (Who needs eye-liner and white face powder, right?)

I do not have many friends at all and never have. It seems I am an anomaly of nothing where-as everyone is seeking to be someone or something else, and yet all I can be is myself -deathly even. Sadly, other than one or two members of my family, my only pure and beloved passion departed me. Beyond the pale, I wonder if she thinks of me. The only Love we had was that of being together in a momentary time of purple haze.

My so-called x-friends -my oh my- seemed only pretenders to the throne of friendship, and still laugh at what respects I paid as the fool of the cemetery keep. When tragedy visited their lives, I am still not sure they were the least bit grateful for time they had with those they lost.

On the headstones  small pictures of the departed hung in memoriam. Over the last couple of years, the pictures have faded and the faces seem ethereal and ghostly. Oddly, I feel exactly as if I have faded too and become as invisible and as nonexistent as the images of my Beloved ones. For all I know, I am the hollow shell of a Ghost going through the recursive memoirs of Love.

Often, I wished to say something I should have said before or something thought of in the moment of Lorne. Maybe I have never stopped being tortured, tormented, or torn over what we deny which happens to us all.

If all of us lived knowing, we will die, would the ever-present knowledge of death inspire us to live differently? (Somehow, I don’t think its going to happen. Oh well.)

I can remember people saying, “You’re fucking stupid, weird, and we wished you would die.” All I did was as I have done and that is to live within the present meditative awareness of Death. As a life-long Goth, how else would I be? Many times, I have taken harsh criticism for visiting graves. People say, “They’re gone and dead. Why do you do this to yourself? Just let go and move on.” Even “if” death is the “end” and there was no “afterlife” then, why not be cognizant of the sure certainty to visit your bones with parlor?

This past year, about ten to possibly thirty people have passed whom I knew of distantly. It was hard to confirm them all. This year, I have known three or so deaths of which I knew the person(s).

Compared to death, I really cannot say that anything else other than living your own life how you will “is” the only way to live. All else is irrelevant.

It brings me no joy to say that I have seen a range of all matter and kind of death. All I presently wish is to see a range of all matter and kind of life. (Crosses fingers wishing for divine intervention.)

Once, I had an experience of near-death. Death changes all things. People only seem aware of it when their life is on the line or someone close dies. In addition, the irony is that I am the one who is not in denial. I would struggle to laugh at that last line but it only garners a half-hearted chuckle with a wince.

I visit two graves of great importance to me.  It has been said that, “We are doomed to repeat what we forget.” In all honesty, I can tell you that I could not forget even if I tried. One grave is of a Family member. The other grave is of Lost Love. Perhaps I am nowhere near the Gothic-Savage that people say of me considering the expression of empathy for those who once existed done in a mannerism nothing short of an ancient ceremony of remembrance.

Is it possible to feel like a Dead-Person-Walking for a lifetime? Yes, it is.

It is possible to say that some of you dies when Love dies? Yes, it is.

Am I well aware of the fact that I will die one day? Without question, it is so.

I can only wish for enough time to accomplish what bit I have set out to do. I am not old but I do not fear age as much as death. Yes, I am terrified of death. As far as dying, I do not know. I have only died once before so my experience is limited. Limited Edition with jest and a merry laugh even. (mu-ah-ah….eh.)

If there were a way for me to cross-over, or peer past the veil again, I wonder if I would see them beyond the void? I would be torn between those I love that have crossed over and the few left of my people that are still alive. (The ominous either-or choose your own adventure…decisions decisions.)

As someone who has had a near-death experience, I can tell you that there is more. It has nothing to do with religion and no one can truly tell you what is to come. I cannot even tell you how to prepare for death, as there are no true answers or guides set in stone. Do not believe what “religions” tell you because they do not have the slightest clue. Boy oh boy they are in for a rude and deathly awakening.

The only Literature I found that might even be remotely close to describing “some” of the “death-experience” was in some Ancient Egyptian Literature and under an Egyptian book named “AUM TAT”. It has something to do with crossing the abyss, the infinite horizon breaking, and entering an ethereal realm of some kind. That is what I experienced and nothing else -and, came back to tell the tale. (Poet and know-it.)

All I can tell you is that death comes to all. It is not a matter of “if” but rather “when”. At best, all that you or I can wish for is a peaceful, painless death.

The best way to live your life to the fullest is to be ever aware of death.

Moreover, when this life is over, it is over.

Wait….wait. Stop me if you heard this one before. “What is the sound of a cemetery full of bony hands clapping?” Hmm, I do not know but, if you do hear that, run. Matter of fact; run as if your life depended on it.

THE END. (Bum Bum Bum!)

(Big Freaky Gong Sounds.)