As if you have not figured out by this point, I am not a writer. I do not have a solid voice, nor do I retain the ability to keep up with a, whats that word I hear all the time that writers have, it’s not a habit, it’s a oh whatever, I don’t have it. A regimen? Maybe it is a habit.
I have recently perused my prior rants thus far and have come to the conclusion that I have said plenty about certain topics. There will be no reason to further enlighten you upon my theories on the proper moral etiquette of the contemporary funeral director, (but I would imagine that based upon the very premise of this said, "blog" I will from time to time always come back to this general motive). I feel that it must branch out a bit though, there is no use in beating horses that are already dead. In fact, there are no reasons to beat horses at all!
People ask me a lot about death. I know nothing of it. I only catch glimpses of the repercussions of it’s presence. I have never done it.
Roy:I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the darkness at Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain. Time to die.
It comes down to truth doesn’t it. I don’t believe god is truth. I don’t believe in god. I would also not consider myself an atheist either. That to seems fanatical and based on information we simply do not have.
I come into contact with people every single day that know the truth and a good many of them seem to think that it is there job, nay, duty to inform me of it. I smile, nod, say “Amen” sometimes, not for any reason of agreement but simply to patronize and pacify. Shit, it’s just easier to let them think that they are right and by golly-don’t-worry-I-am-one-of you. That REALLY sucks, but as long as I am bound to working for someone else (interesting that this is coming up on May 1) I will be forced to submit to someone else’s rules of engagement. I will smile, nod, and silently think, “you are fucking nuts…” and then I will take care of the family to the best of my ability.
I have been thinking about droids a lot lately. With the 3rd and final coming soon to a theater near you, I really hope that Mr. Lucas is going where I think he might go with all of this nonsense.
I had never understood in episode 1 why our little heroes surfaced again, or rather, surfaced before? What possible motive could he have for allowing their continuity, especially after Old Ben says, “I don’t recall ever owning any droids” (I originally type-oed “I don’t recall ever owing any druids” tee-hee that’s funny shit) I suppose the operable word for the sake of honesty and plotholes would be “owning” wouldn’t it, digression! digression! I think droids represent our ego and our ability to unconsciously act based on our very framework. Blue R-2 represents the bodhisattva heart that we all might strive for, (or not strive) and that, is why the little bastard is so important. He acts only for “good” unconsciously because he has been “programmed?” to. Even if that means pushing his golden friend off of a precipice to his certain doom. These droids, however are also immune to the ways of the force in ways that neither Jedi or Sith seem to be aware of. R-2 consistently foils plans. That is his way. I believe, that in this next film we will see that just as one bot can do “good” with his programming, another bot will do “bad”, but not for anything as complicated as the thing that we are slaves to. LOVE. We too are droids, we just have a more complicated rule set. Right?
I think a lot about what I would do if I had to go through what I see others have to endure every day. Now, I am not talking about the 95-year-old great-grandfather dieing in his sleep, obviously. I am referring to the 40 year old father of three with pancreatic cancer, the 2-year-old accidentally run over by her father’s best friend, and the 16-year old shot by the police in front of his father’s very eyes. How do you “recover” from that? I will tell you dear reader, ya don’t. Ever. You simply continue on, forever changed, with the new dumbfounding knowledge that you wish you had never gained. I see it, and I don’t want it, ever. Nope. Not me. I also know, with every facet of my comprehensive abilities, that I am one-millisecond away from it every millisecond of every day that I grace (or disgrace) these green hills of earth. Does that mean I am paralyzed by fear to the point that I am unable to continue “on”? No, but I certainly do attempt to be aware of what I “have” and what others have been stripped of, (or in many cases, might never have had).
I think that I may know one truth. That truth is love. My son has taken lately to saying, son: “daddy?”
Me: “yes son?”
Son: “I love you.”
That’s it. He gives me a hug and I know that he understands something right now so fundamentally pure and real that I can barely grasp how important it might be. He has now entered into a contract, (unconsciously) with me, and really the rest of the world, that will simultaneously allow him to grow and prosper as well as be utterly and completely destroyed when the contract is broken.
Once love is, love is.
And that is the fucked up thing, (sorry for the language, I usually refrain.) because even after death, love goes on. That part of our core doesn’t stop aching for the ones we have lost. It does not just shut off. With no smiles/smells/embrace/laugh/anger/tears/eyes/hairs/smiles/smells/embrace to lay love upon, it just boils over into pain.
So is the answer to escaping the pain not to love? Not if you know love. There is no substitute, and OH how we try and try to substitute.
Anakin will not go Vader out of hate or fear. He will go out of love. Love for his Padme. And how can we blame him? He never had a chance.
It’s that thing that once you know something, you can’t ever really take it away or get rid of it. You might be able to rethink something and gain a greater understanding of it. Or even possibly be given a new set of circumstances that refutes your last understanding, but you never lose that grasp of what you once had. I remember as a young Presbyterian what it felt like to “believe” in god. (Strangely I don’t recall ever believing in Santa Clause.) I remember trying very hard to tell myself I believed it (god, not Santa Clause). Now that I understand (or think that I understand) that it’s a little bit more (or less) complicated than that, I can never go back, I don’t want to, the mystery is more beautiful and anyway.
Such is love. I have it, have had it, will have it. Wouldn’t have it any other way.
