Candles are a paradox.
Bombs are going off all around the city, seasons are changing all around the world. People are dying every day and the bombs are coming closer and closer every day. And somehow the common careless statements of disdain that say 'he should be shot.hung.castrated!' are just becoming bad tasteless jokes. Inappropriate.
Two people lost their lives less than two hours ago, and ten more families are tense with worry - for loved ones clinging on to life or clinging on to the hope of recovery. In another town, the 90-something year old woman lies in her coma-induced stupor as her system shuts down... one by one by one... people say it's a matter of time. Somehow, I do see her making it. God doesn't tell us with so much certainty that it's time to prepare for the end of the road. That it's a coming, so be with her in her last moments. Those two people did not know as they held on the sour-metal railings of the bus, or as they were crossing the road, or as they were doing their groceries thinking 'costs have gone up again, hm, what's for dinner tonight', or whatever was going through their minds less than two hours ago, it wasn't death. God didn't tell them, did He. Or did He? I wouldn't know. What is it like to die, really? Does one feel a sense of calm? Does instinct take over and does one remember the best moments of life before the shrapenl hits, before the darkness closes in? Or does it come and encase you like a sudden blanket of cold fog that smothers the life out of you and you are powerless to do anything about?
Are you ready to meet death, if he comes a-knocking this very next moment? Will you greet him with open arms? Or will you shy away from him, afraid because you have not atoned for your sins? Because you have not told that one person, two people, ten people that you love them? That you haven't made peace with your family? Regret those careless words and famiyl squabbles that u didn't really intend? Will they ever know? But then if you're dead, you don't have to live with remorse, do you. Or do you, in the next life/world?
Remorse. Remorseful. Remorse-ridden. Regret. Regretful. Regret-ridden. The dullness in your eyes, the absence of that spark. So may ways to say it. Just one powerful emotion.
In that same other town, a farewell party was planned. Rain and all, it was expected to still go down in a blaze of glory, a final salute to a departing soldier. A soldier armed with words and opinions, values and beliefs. The alcohol flowed and the laughter rang rich and clear, memories were recounted, stories were polaroid-pictured, frozen in time. With one celebration, another candle died.
It's funny about candles, you know. People light candles and say, 'oh if it stays alight, it's a sign of good things'. Don't they know if it stays alight, its going to melt to the ground anyway?
Seasons are changing and the waves are crashing and the world goes round and round and round and round and round.
They ask me, are you done writing. I dont know if i have even begun.
