Me.
Brown Leaf.
Monday, October 15, 2007
As I sat gazing into my late grandfather's grave, I couldn't help but hear the soft murmurs of my mother, grandmother and aunts as they said a small prayer for him. Having thrust religion aside for some time now, I couldn't bring myself to cite the Al- Fatihah like everyone else. I spoke to him with my heart - I asked that he forgive whatever wrongs I may have committed, to him or any member of the family, and most importantly I asked him to watch over my family, give them the strength that they need to get through whatever trying times that they may face.
I tried to ask for something for myself, but the words just didn't seem to form.
As everyone got up and left, I took a moment to look around.
This cemetery...
... a place where the dearly departed are buried, a place where memories of sorrow and joy are easily rekindled in the mind's eye, a place where people choose to bury moments that will never come while striving to get up and move on...
... this very cemetery, seemed so perfect.
It has always seemed to me, that whenever I visit a graveyard, I find the place so unnaturally soothing. It's as though the rest of the world isn't even a part of it. Here the trees sway gently in the cooling breeze, the clouds roll by ever so gracefully. The birds sing a humble song, the earth so soft it cushions every step taken.
And in that few moments spent there, there's a feeling inside that tells you everything is just as it is. No matter what may go wrong on the outside, this cemetery will remain untouched, unaffected.
Cemeteries have always been one of the few places where I can enter a state of relaxedness that I can't find even in my own home. Sounds morbid, doesn't it?
Maybe because I've always been so... fascinated with death.
So much so that I constantly wake up to recurring dreams of myself dying. I sometimes wonder: how would things be like when I'm dead?
Will they mourn my death, or celebrate my departure?
Will they remember me for what I did, or for what I didn't do?
Will they keep my memory alive, or strive to forget me?
So many questions. One can only wonder if one's existence has ever had more positive than negative impacts on anyone around.
And what else of death? While I may question the deeds of the future for those around me, I also question the very thing about death: what happens when death comes?
Do we turn to be nothing but a cold body under turned soil? Is there anything after death?
Does Heaven and Hell really exist? Or are they merely fictional places designed by the fickle human mind, in the hopes of instilling enough hope and fear into people that they may carry themselves as a strong-willed society, righteous in almost every deed?
I guess this is where religion comes back into the fray. But that's for another time.
Tread not a road with eyes shut - moving blindly is but a walk of misdirection with the hope of capturing that which can't be seen.
Given a certain level of thought byAdam Dewind at 3:16 PM