Cemetery Blues

I was walking home from class last night when I passed the cemetery. You know the one, it starts at Lawrence and Clark and goes north about a block. I don't usually walk home, but it was a nice night and so I found myself there.

I immediately thought of dead people, as one does. A cemetery is basically a big public housing project for dead people. In the dirty corner next to the McDonalds wrappers are the small unobtrusive headstones, cramped and cold. Looking towards the east the monuments rise high and gaudy, gentrification having pushed out those less prestigious corpses.

Then it all got personal. I am going to die. I am going to be in a box in the ground. I am not going to be able to do anything. Or think anything. Box. Ground. Dead. These are thoughts which often terrify me if I let them. They are the reason I engage in work like Fear, to confront and accept the eventuality of death. But last night, I chose not to let them. I was flying high after having aced a chemistry test, and having seen the sun in the sky for the first time in what seemed like years. In this particular mood I wasn't worried about trivial things like money, or mortality. I was optimistic. I will finish school, and become a nurse. I will help people. I will get the perfect motorcycle, and ride it into the west. I will spend part of my life in another country. I will have a house with a garden and a blue shed. I will make this experience as fulfilling as possible for myself and for those around me.

And then I started thinking about religion, as I often do. I was raised in a religious family, but now I'm finding my own way in a godless universe. I know I have a limited amount of time to make good on the promises listed above. What changes about your perspective if you think you'll live forever? Probably depends on which believer you ask. Regardless, I do think there are some similarities between worldviews that are worth considering.

Take broken-ness, for example. The state of being imperfect. A huge part of Christianity is acknowledging moral imperfection as a result of our sinful nature. Taken too far, this can turn into debilitating guilt of Catholic proportions. But a little guilt is a good thing, for believers and atheists alike. Mistakes are useful. Note them, make sure not to make them twice. Proceed onward. I agree that no one is perfect. There is no such thing as perfect. We are all doing our best in a universe that cares not a whit for us. Falling down is to be expected. The key is to get up, call a friend, and go laugh about something.