I dunno I reckon we’ll name it Thanatopsis

My horoscope said that I might be tempted to explore life’s darker side today. It also said that wasn’t a good idea. Then again, I reckon it’s like that chain letter that Niamh sent from Donegal. It said that if I sent it on, someone would come into my life and tell me something that would change it. It even gave me a time. It said at 10:38 the following morning this would happen. Did it? Did it fuck. The only thing that happened at 10:38 the following morning was that a little green man appeared and told me it was safe to cross the road. Give that whatever meaning you will. I’m not one for chain letters. I hate the things, but for nothing more than a few minutes’ thoughts about the happiness and well-being of Niamh, I sent the thing on. She’s worth it, so here goes.

There are some days when I wake up for no other reason than my heart is still beating, and my back is sore from lying in bed and sitting still for too long. I don’t like those days. Today was one of those days. My horoscope also said that today odds were I would meet my soul mate. Did I? Did I fuck. The only people I met today were mo chairde, and a poor woman desperate for the loo. I reckon she was so embarrassed about being caught short, and in need of the loo, that she rushed away straight after. Fuck, we’ve all been there. It’s woeful. Not a chance in fuck am I going to deny a woman doing the silly-silly pee-pee dance the right to the loo. Not a fucking hope. She’s using the loo.

Yeah, we’re still not liking today too much. The horriblescopes lied. Bastards. At least the ones in the Onion are amusing. I woke up today because my heart was still beating. I got out of bed because my back was sore from lying still for too long. I had a shower, remembered the words: nice and easy down the road, and went to work. Not a single one of my appointments showed. I earned nothing today, nor did I lighten my workload. I didn’t even have the energy to say fuck it, and go into town for a pint. Instead, I went home and cleaned up the spatters of sick I left on the rim of the toilet yesterday morning.

Yesterday I woke up alright until I remembered that I was up so early because I had to go to a funeral. Then the recent events caught up with me. It was all just a bit too much.

My uncle is an American farmer. The farm was hit in the flooding, heavy rains and tornados that have struck the American Mid-West. His fields are under water at the moment. The waters still haven’t gone down. His year’s harvest has been ruined. This year is a total loss for the man. All his efforts since January are gone. And he’s an American. Hurricane Katrina speaks more loudly than I ever could about what sort of hope he can expect from the insurance companies and the American government. He’s got nothing but pieces of a past history to put back together and to build from. Sometimes it takes a hurricane to wake you up. In the right light this is so incredibly funny that you can’t believe it’s not made up.

But that morning I remembered the fact that I was going to bury an admirable and exceptional woman that morning. That’s when I blessed the throne. When I got it back together, I remembered that I was now late for getting into town, getting the flowers, and getting to the church. I cleaned the bigger chunks, but had to leave it a bit of a mess. There were more important things.

This woman was a true woman. There was nothing girlish about her. I remember her quick to laugh. I remember her glowing eyes and bright smile. I remember her offhand comments that always contained a pearl of wisdom. I remember the world being better for that evening just on account of her very presence. I remember her living a life of virtue with ease. I remember her as the mother of three children to her 18 yearlong partner. He is one of the best men I have ever met. I have met people, and I have met men, and he is one of the best I have ever met anywhere. Sometimes words need to be smith-ed.

This man, my friend, mo chara, just lost his friend, lover, and mother to his children. Her loss struck me so hard that I got sick. The poor bastard. I had to get it together to get a taxi to get to the funeral. I couldn’t leave him on his own. By god, how un-empathetic would I have to be to do so? I left the sick to lie where it was. I knew I would get back to it later. After all, it’s my house. It’s not going anywhere.

Alright, so just bless the Greeks. Iron Age Greece justifies everything. Many happy days of eternity to all Greeks, simply because the ancient Greeks allowed their soldiers to get sick. So here’s a culture that gave us physics, philosophy, literature, maths, geometry, etc. Yet were still so in touch with it’s physical humanity that it recognised, as that culture, the need for some poor bastard who’d been hacking away at other people all day to have two minutes to get sick at the insanity of it all. When you think about it, it’s small wonder their gods were so fucked up. A divinity truly watching over all of that would go mad. It’d be like throwing biscuits at bears. There’s no physical law in the universe that says that we as people have the right to get physically sick and lose the plot for two minutes when it all gets to be too much. Fucking reconcile that dichotomy.

The Greeks made their gods mad, and gave their soldiers time to get sick. It seems like a fair trade to me. I reckon the Greeks knew about empathy. Yeah, empathy, the ability to be aware of another person’s feelings. Make all the Greek jokes you want. Laugh at the fact that the Greeks didn’t have a word corresponding to love, as we understand it today. Laugh at the fact that they only saw it as pure platonic love, or fucking, and never a mixture of the two. We had to wait for Rome’s hedonism to give us that concept. Be revolted by the fact that a Greek man took a wife of many years his younger for no reason other than to sire children. Remember that this is a culture that produced philosophy and geometry. Remember that this was an enlightened culture that recognised the need for warfare to the point where it was practiced regularly. And remember that their warfare built into itself a mutually recognised need for its practitioners to get sick at the end of the day. Try getting that out of a modern day religion. There isn’t one empathetic enough.

Not even Buddhism, worldly recognised as the most peaceful of all religions. Perhaps I’m just being bitter over the fact that Chögyam Trungpa said I didn’t have what it takes to be one of the cool kids. I don’t have a mentor. I’m lost in the woods; therefore the cool kids don’t want me.

As a quick aside, I would like to point out that the idea of Buddhists up in arms is funny. I would also like to point out that it is funny as fuck to think that you’re damned for finding something funny. Bless the lads that did that motivational poster blasphemy. Fair play lads.

You just can’t get that out of a rigid set of rules. I reckon that’s why the Buddhist monk laughed in the face of the girl receiving her blessing from him when she broke down in tears during the ceremony. I also reckon that Chögyam Trungpa sussed it when he said in another of his books that the greatest gift is the sharing of knowledge. Wish I’d met the man so I could shake his hand and say, nice one. More’s the pity.

This woman had a spine much stronger than any rigid set of rules. Hers knew how to flex. And your modern puritanical rigid-set-of-rules god help you if the recoil of that spine of hers having to flex is coming back at you because you were a cunt. She was an exceptional woman. There was no set of rules that were going to keep me from that funeral. They had 18 years together. They should have had at least another 20. Her loss had me in tears repeatedly. They deserved it. I left the sick where it lay and went to the funeral.

I got it together. I went to the funeral. I did my part as best I was able.

Maddog met me in town when I made it back. Here’s where I get all funny and tell you that he was protecting his investment. He didn’t want to see a column on his growing website to go the way of the Do-do. He met me in town. He took me out to dinner. He bought a rake of drink, and scammed some more for free. He walked me to a taxi, fired me into the thing, pointed his finger at me and admonished me severely. And I hope now the bastard sees why there is sometimes a need for dialogue in rants. And another thing, word counts be fucked, I buried a friend yesterday. Rules are made to be broken, fuck ‘em, it’s allowed.

Maddog got me back home after the funeral. He bared the rubber teeth of Finn, the Maddog of Big Rock Candy Mountain. Finn minded me while I did what I needed to do that day. I don’t even know half of what he did for last week’s guest. Bless him and his writing. He believes in it that strongly that he deserves nothing but success. The man never once thought of getting a thank you. You can’t get that empathy out of a puritanical set of rules. It would be too codified, too exclusive. There would be some custom, some set of holy rules handed down by some elders that was no longer flexible enough to allow that empathy without some sort of expectation of payback.

Let’s re-enter the mad Greek gods. Remember what you know. There is no physical law that allows us time to get sick when it all gets too much. The physical proof that there is homosexual necrophilia in mallard ducks is ridiculous. Maddog minded me while I minded everything that I needed to keep together as best I was able for this funeral. I cared about these people. They were good friends of mine. Just the very knowledge that they were there in the world made it a better place.

A part of that perfect beauty of the omnipotent god’s world is gone. All I can do is consider my self-blessed for having known only my little part of it. More is the loss of the blessing for those who had a larger part of it.

That’s why I’ll take my gods old and mad. I’ll wear with pride a Thor’s Hammer I carved myself by hand from a piece of bog oak that had been gathered by another friend, and initially shaped by. That’s why I’ll take the solstice and stand on top of what is nothing more than a political site, and celebrate what is nothing more than another day of the year with all the rest of the new age hippies and laugh at the madness of it all.

I like my gods to have to fight for their existence. Odin suffered a revolt in Valhalla, and got the boot. I’ll have that. After all, my uncle’s land that is now under water was first plotted by the sons of Vikings. That’ll do. After all, a sub-clause of using common sense is to remember that you may learn something new. That’s why you need to remember to proceed with caution. A bit of empathy helps. It lets you mind your karmic footprint.

See, Buddha’s greatest gift was silence, and that gives us time for a ponderance that all the seven holy virtues require empathy. None of them are empathy itself, but they all require it.

Yeah, I reckon I like Empathy as a god. I should also say that Muse stopped by today at the appropriate time, bearing gifts as usual. We do love our muse and her sneaky bottles, especially because we know that she knows that she is accountable for everything she does. She is a phenomenal soul. It’s hard to believe they make ‘em that good. She walked me home from work today. I went home and cleaned the sick off the toilet. It was a good thing the flatmate was away and I didn’t have to explain myself. We can laugh about it over a pint later. At least I had the night to clean the place up.

Someone needs to sweep the floor after mass. I blessed the throne. The world’s a mad place. I buried a friend. That’s all she was. She was a friend. I cried, got sick, when to the funeral, and cleaned up after. I woke up this morning for no other reason than my heart was still beating. I got out of bed this morning because my back was sore from lying still for too long. How fucking selfish am I? What am I like with my biology keeping me awake?

Yeah, I’ll take my gods mad. Bless the Greeks. They let me stand in the middle of a funeral and tell a good friend of mine, a true man, that all was not lost, as best as I was able. I couldn’t do anything more than be there for him. I know he was hurting. I did it fully as best I was able. How could you not do it for the man? Make all the buggery jokes you want, it doesn’t change the fact that the Greeks proved that they knew about empathy.

Me, I’m lost in the woods. Not even the cool kids will let me in. Which, again, is so unbelievably funny when viewed in the right light that you can’t believe this is not made up. The amount of times I have had to explain silly little things like the eight wrathful deities, and the Taras is unbelievable. And it started because I liked the pictures.

It used to be implicit in the earning of my monthly pay check that I killed people for a living. I’ll take my gods mad, thank you. A friend of mine buried a massive part of his life yesterday. His children are going to have to live the rest of their lives without their mother. They were blessed with her and by her, and she is now gone. They have to live with that.

Say a prayer for them, I beg you. They’ve donkeys in front of them, all without their mother. They deserved more. No one could ever deserve the loss of someone that brilliant. And she was their mother.

Say a prayer for their lives. It’ll only take you a moment, and it’ll last them a lifetime. All it takes is a bit of empathy. And then welcome yourself to life. It’ll get complicated from here. Someone has to sweep the floor after mass.

Say a prayer for them to help pick up the pieces and carry on. They’re children. I beg you please, just be there for them as best you’re able. It’s a mad world, why would you choose to make it any worse?

Horoscopes say the odds are that you’re still going to wake up in the morning because your heart’s still beating. Then you’ll get out of bed because your back’s sore from lying still for too long. After that the odds are there will be the morning ritual shite, and the day will begin.

Say a prayer that the children have many days like that, and then remember to go stand on a hill and celebrate a another day in the year.