Recently, someone told me that people get upset over other folks dying because they are really mourning their own eventual deaths.
In June I lost a very old friend, and more deaths are coming. I can feel it in my stomach, its coming. My two remaining grandparents, my grandmothers are both getting quite old, having health problems and my dear puppy just past. It marks the end of an era for me. On July 3rd at exactly 3:12 AM I turned 21. Truly the end of my teen years. I can now legally drink booze, as if legal ever meant shit to me.
My dear friend who past was a friend from my very early childhood. So old that at his memorial his smiling mother (she was channeling him she said) stopped smiling and had to cover her mouth to stifle a sob.She reached out with and held my arm with her other hand when I told her who I was. It took her a moment to recognize me. I suppose it brought her back to the glory days of her beautiful little boy. I’ve had the experience of looking at my platonic male friends in a way in which I feel a proud mother might look at their little boy. I was usually under the influence of some sort of substance, but I can tell you that it is an overwhelming volcano of joy. I imagine as children get older their parents can still see their small child’s face in their now adult faces. I’ve wondered if his mother maybe saw my little kid face because she’d known me so long and it really hurt because she realized she’d never get to look at her child’s face again in action. Mourning her own death? I think not.
Not mourning your eventual death, but perhaps mourning a death of a part of yourself. Certain people in your life, most people you meet, if you give them a chance to get even a little close to you, will bring you to find something new inside of yourself. I’ve found I’ve never had the same experience with any two people, nobody wakes up the same colors in the pit of my stomach. When someone leaves my life, even if its not in such a permanent way as death my belly mourns the feelings they activated in me. I can get watercolor-esque faded memories of their unique light show, but it just isn’t the same. Its like a part of me died. I think that when humans mourn the death of someone they are just mourning the part of themselves they’ve had to leave behind for the most part.
It bothers me though, that death is seen as such a negative thing in our culture. Its just another one of the things in our culture that seems to have this two-party system thing going on. Only two choices, one is good and one is evil. I think it comes from Christianity. You’re either with God or with the Devil. You’re either alive or your dead. We seem to think dead equals bad. People leave. We keep going. Its a sign that we’re still going.
I said earlier that it was my birthday about a month ago. Its kind of fucked up, we celebrate when someone arrived here every year, usually. However, we don’t often celebrate when that someone leaves. We do in a sense, talking about things they used to do and how happy they used to make us. That is positive, but I can’t help feeling like we aren’t examining a certain part of the positive aspects of what death is.
My beautiful puppy, Chi Chi. Originally Fibonacci, after the Fibonacci Sequence, a mathematical sequence. Related to the Golden Ratio, named such a thing because it is used in so many outlets of our world. When I got him I was going through my whole chosen oneism phase (See previous post) and I was really into the whole everything, nothing/creation, destruction buzz. Some other chosen-oneistic fellow in Texas showed me a documentary about the golden ratio a day before I got my dog. “Hey… man thats a clever way to give my puppy a name of universal love!” So Fibonacci it was. Shortened to Chi Chi, which could translate into “Energy,Energy”. I feel as though I lost a child, every time I look at dog I can see my sweet puppies eyes looking at mine. It hurts me deep deep. I feel it is my duty to examine the positives here, though his life was only about a year and some months, man did this boy live a full life.
After having him for a week, we hopped a train with a Gene Wilder hobo look-alike. He was an Occudog. He saw Occupy San Antonio, Tuscon, and the very end of NoLa. He lived through a piece of history, Occupy failed you hear often, but we’re still fucking talking about it, so something happened. He lived through a piece of history! We hitchhiked all the way from Tuscon to Bumfuck now where California. I’m sure these adventures meant next to nothing to my little Chi Chi, but I was a lost boy, as I call it, trying so hard to not grow up. When you’re fighting the inevitable the sinking in ones belly is excruciating, but Chi Chi was always there to bring some of the pink clouds back. When a relationship gone wrong had me believing I was undeserving of love, Chi Chi reminded me how wrong I was. If tied him up outside of a store for literally two seconds, my return was greeted with the kind of excitement the Messiah might bring to some folks. When he was super young I’d hold him real close and meditate on the words “Love, Love, Love..” His physical existence wasn’t for very long, this incredible little ball of joy, but no watercolor for this boy, thick permanent marker colors on my belly. The colors he gifted me, a reminder to love myself always alive. No death here, the life he gave to me, to my parents, never before dog people, find their lives changed. Thank you my beautiful Energy Energy for the life you’ve given me.
My grandfather, my mother said had always wanted a Schnauzer, Chi Chi was a mix of Schnauzer and something else. Grandpa died a few years back, they are together now. Grandpa is spoiling the shit out of my lil’babe. All the lamb treats he could ever want. I’m happy they are together.