Eccentric Flower:199903/birth death and clio
From Eccentric Flower
 |
eight march birth, death, and clio I woke up late today. I wasn't able to sleep until four a.m. I blame society. Didn't do a lot of writing this weekend (which includes Friday, when I was home sick from work). I felt like I needed badly to take a break from my ongoing writing projects, especially after I answered so much email (and wrote those two postcards) on Friday - I felt like I'd already used up all my words for the weekend. Lately, for various reasons, I have been reading a lot about calendars, holidays, and marking time in general. As I read some more on the subject on Saturday morning, I felt another personality bubbling to the surface - someone who has definite pagan sensibilities (I'm "undeclared," myself) and who views humanity's ups and downs as a spectator, not a participant. When I gained back control of my body, it was Saturday night, reference books and papers lay strewn about me, a prodigious amount of coffee had been consumed, and this was staring me in the face. Only the first two links on that page and the last one go to anything substantial. We'll see what happens when she comes back. If she comes back. Reading Clio's commentary has given me an additional perspective on birthdays - as regular readers know, I don't believe in celebrating them. Before, I said that I didn't think one's birthday was worth commemorating unless one was a major historical figure - now I realize I was deluding myself: I don't like celebrating the birthdays of major figures either. I'm more consistent than I thought. I approve of celebrating significant deeds or major events. I can see the need to mark those. But I am not interested in marking the births of the people responsible for those deeds and events. Actions count. Not names. This is, I concede, a matter of personal outlook alone. I have already reached detente with many of my regular correspondents - we have agreed to more-or-less peaceably disagree. Oddly enough, while you will never catch me saying "On this day, such-and-such was born," I will sometimes note when someone has died. Like Stanley Kubrick. (Wry joke: You can't tell me there weren't a lot of people whose first reaction was, "But did he finish editing the damned movie?") This is not due to a morbid outlook (although I don't expect you to believe me). When you are born, you are an untested unprovable. You have not yet done anything. As noted before, your birth may be a milestone for your parents, but not for you. Gradually you live and you accomplish things. If your accomplishments are noteworthy, others notice them and you acquire stature. Or maybe they don't. Either way, when you die, it means you are no longer able to do. That's important. That's a tragedy. Birth means there's nothing in your ledger yet; death means there will never be any new entries in it. (Memo to Marc: Send me an email about how death is only a change of perspective with respect to the universe as a whole and how we never stop existing, only change form, and verily it will be a cold day in hell before I ever sip cider with you again.) (Memo to everyone else: I'm only that way with Marc because I've heard his thoughts on the subject about five zillion times. If you want to dispute me, argue with me, call me nasty names, by all means fire away.) (Memo to Clio: If you're going to occupy my body, for pity's sake clean up your mess when you're done.)
© columbine |
