dressed for the end
"There are those who can reconcile themselves to death and those who can't. Increasingly, I've come to think that it is one of the most important ways the world divides up." writes David Reiff, of his mother's, Susan Sontag, determination to live.
Lately, this idea of making a choice - or choosing to make a choice - has been bouncing around. It is often said, by Christians and middle-aged hippie mystics (like my aunt) alike, that letting go is part of acceptance. Acceptance part of letting go. And it's true: once you've made the choice to accept something for what it is, someone for who they are, it is that much easier when the it (the other) does what it does. Once parents have accepted their children as individuals, it perhaps becomes easier to let them make mistakes. Once we accept our spouses for who they are, terminally imperfect, temporary in their bodies, perhaps it becomes easier to watch them live outside of us. Circumstances too - personal tragedy, economic collapse - can be taken with a deep breath, a sigh, and be gently adopted into our inventory of sadness.
But why would we have to? Why should we be so easy going with the things that cause us grief?
Why lately I have been thinking about death and grieving so much is beyond me. But in my internal dealings with it, totally hypothetical dealings being that my own personal encounters with death and dying have been minimal, I have refused to accept it as an option. Of course, we all must die. All things do in fact come to an end. And while it was easy to be grateful that R's grandmother died quickly and in peace, I remain indignant that my step-cousin should have died randomly, senselessly of carbon dioxide poisoning while sleeping in a tent. Yet, one can we do? Nothing. We can do nothing other than be angry, to stamp our fists and wonder why despite our intelligence and progress and technology and spiritual enlightenment, we continue to live like animals - subject to whims of nature, and dare I suggest, God. For what is to the best of knowledge the first time in my life, I am personally aware of the question of a just God, or justice at all really. If we are not in some way "special", not in some way other
from ferns, gladiola, cats, then the world really is filled with senselessness.
And, of course, I don't believe that even for a minute. But every once in a while I think it helps to try on a desperate view of the universe, like it's good to try on a really ugly, itchy dress once in awhile.
Lately, this idea of making a choice - or choosing to make a choice - has been bouncing around. It is often said, by Christians and middle-aged hippie mystics (like my aunt) alike, that letting go is part of acceptance. Acceptance part of letting go. And it's true: once you've made the choice to accept something for what it is, someone for who they are, it is that much easier when the it (the other) does what it does. Once parents have accepted their children as individuals, it perhaps becomes easier to let them make mistakes. Once we accept our spouses for who they are, terminally imperfect, temporary in their bodies, perhaps it becomes easier to watch them live outside of us. Circumstances too - personal tragedy, economic collapse - can be taken with a deep breath, a sigh, and be gently adopted into our inventory of sadness.
But why would we have to? Why should we be so easy going with the things that cause us grief?
Why lately I have been thinking about death and grieving so much is beyond me. But in my internal dealings with it, totally hypothetical dealings being that my own personal encounters with death and dying have been minimal, I have refused to accept it as an option. Of course, we all must die. All things do in fact come to an end. And while it was easy to be grateful that R's grandmother died quickly and in peace, I remain indignant that my step-cousin should have died randomly, senselessly of carbon dioxide poisoning while sleeping in a tent. Yet, one can we do? Nothing. We can do nothing other than be angry, to stamp our fists and wonder why despite our intelligence and progress and technology and spiritual enlightenment, we continue to live like animals - subject to whims of nature, and dare I suggest, God. For what is to the best of knowledge the first time in my life, I am personally aware of the question of a just God, or justice at all really. If we are not in some way "special", not in some way other
from ferns, gladiola, cats, then the world really is filled with senselessness.
And, of course, I don't believe that even for a minute. But every once in a while I think it helps to try on a desperate view of the universe, like it's good to try on a really ugly, itchy dress once in awhile.
posted by beef at 1:23 PM
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