The Ferryman

To you, O Lord, I called; to the Lord I cried for mercy: "What gain is there in my destruction, in my going down into the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it proclaim your faithfulness?" Psalm 30:8-9



It's time's like today, moments of the surreal, when there is one particular song that always pops into my head. Call it an organizational defense mechanism sifting through the remnants of chaos, or call it some weird synapse recall, but this song always pops in my head. It did on 9/11, today, and a few other moments when life became all to surreal, or almost painfully hallucinogenic. Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Special thanks to Richard Ashcroft for penning one of the more haunting, and somewhat creepy tunes that I've encountered in this life. It haunts me because of the scenarios it re-awakens in my memory, and the times it decides to have relevance to me. The lyrics take on a totally different meaning in these moments than those that accompany him in the video; walking against the grain down a crowded street, possibly New York or London, amongst millions of nameless and faceless people, pushing them down and crooning about change. Yet, maybe there is a reason that particular song comes to mind.

Everybody pays the ferryman. The singular facet of life that we all must face, and are all connected to is death. Every person and living organism from the dawn of time has fallen to it's timeless power. It pardons no one, and excludes no one. If you've taken a breath in this world, you will take a last. Wherever it is that we go after this life, the ferryman awaits, with his bag of tickets by his side. When you meet him, he slowly ushers you to the other side. No matter what creed, or demonination, or faith, or spiritual enlightenment, or lack thereof that you follow, it doesn't give you an exemption from death.

Today showed how powerful entities like time, and mortality, and temporality really are, and how insignificant we are standing side by side to them...just how vulnerable and ineffectual we really are. It's a sobering truth, but one which must be accepted, even sometimes violently. I absolutely hate talking about the fragility of life. It's utterly disheartening. Especially when you are often ringside for the examples of power and grace that humans possess. To see it crumble in one pointless fail swoop is disappointing at best, and revoltingly horrid at worst.

One thinks about the exit. How the pupils must have been dilated to maximum capacity, letting every ray of light in, squeezing out the color of the iris till it was just a sliver of color around a ring of black. Senses sharpened like a razor-sharp hunting knife, flight or fight responses and the monsoon flood of adrenaline down the spine, the disturbing sounds, the sights, the stale metallic smell of blood. Soldiers probably feel this type of feeling on a regular basis. Escaping (literally and figuratively) bullet after bullet, till the one on mark finally catches it's target...for the unfortunate. But in civilian clothes, when the preparedness is afloat somewhere not to be found, how can one explain the horror.

True story...my second week of work at my new job found me facing something that was considerably uncomfortable. One of my coworkers found out that her best friend, a young 39 years old, was going to be put on Hospice care because her battle with leukemia was coming to an end. I remember her sobbing and how uncomfortable it made everyone feel. But of course, it was understandable...it was just something that nobody wants to confront in a day to day routine. We want to come in, stick our widget in the hole, clock out and go home...not to be bothered with matters of mortality. The next day, she was speaking with a friend about the matter...within earshot. She began to cry and said, "I don't know what to do. The walls are thin and they're closing in. I just wanna know what's going to happen to my Annie when she leaves. Where is she going? I just want to know where my Annie is going when she leaves?" I remember how raw and powerful and Earth-shaking that statement was. It wasn't a question of religious destination. It was a human question of the unknown. Where was her friend going? Would she be able to see her again? Would they be able to laugh again and talk of their memories together? Would they be able to be there and connect on that level that saw them connect in this life? Where was she going, and why couldn't she see her again? It's so fucked up...

One of my friends married a girl who lost her sister to cancer recently. She has understandably taken it hard. Without going into detail, she has done everything within her power to hold onto the death of her sister. In ways that are heartbreaking. The funny thing is, we assume that the dead are hanging on to judgement of thankfulness and gratefulness about what we do in their absence. We do things to serve them after their passing and make assumptions as to what they would think...if they would be proud...if they would appreciate it. But the sad truth is, there isn't anyone to convince but ourselves. It's so human, and it's so sad. It's like running the stray puppy off that you fell in love with when you were a child and possessed your innocent love, but knew that you couldn't take it home. It hurt to turn it away. But the puppy didn't know any different. Only you did. It's that feeling magnified by an indefinable number. The dead are not concerned with our efforts after their passing. That is why the present is so consummately imperative.

Two days ago, my old roommate told me of how he witnessed someone passing into the infinite unknown. He works at a hospital and this kid, 20 years old, was rushed in after a car wreck. They tried a rapid transfusion, defribullation, cardio-pulminary resucitation, electronically advanced machines to revive, and they even split his chest to massage his heart for revival. You can imagine, as I can, how disturbing witnessing something like this can be. He had a relatively tough time with witnessing this for the first time. Called his mother for reassurance....as I probably would. To massage the heart for revival after such...

When I was in high school, I would spend one day a week in the Summer's mowing the lawn of my great aunt. A lady I respected very much. Very independent, and extremely intelligent. Her advice was always welcome and after my chores were complete, I'd sit and listen to her as she served me an ice-cold Coke for my efforts (which usually was the perfect cure for the hangover I carried into the job). She told me of a recurring dream she had since she was a child. The vision has stayed with me. She dreamt of the day of her death. To hear her speak of this in the calm and collectedness that she did, was intriguing. She was a woman of faith, and that faith sustained her throughout her life. That quiet assurance she had in her deeply-rooted faith pulled her through so many trials and unsettling waters. She stood by a river after her death. She stood with the man who would garner her path across this river. It was the river Jordan. There were people floating, lying down, face to the sky; floating up and down the river. Nameless, faceless people. Millions of people. Some people were going against the current, while many others were going with the current. Those who were traveling against the current were making their way to Heaven. It was for their efforts of denying the world's enticements that they found their way against the current. Those who were traveling with the current were not. When I asked her if they were going to Hell, she told me that she wasn't sure. She said that in her dream she felt that they were people of faith, but maybe their destiny wasn't to spend the next life in Heaven or Hell. She knew that her efforts got her to where she wanted to be, and that everybody else chose their own paths. God would be the judge of where they ended up. But she was hopeful that her path would lead her against the current of the river. Against the current of the nameless, faceless people.

Get out of my head Richard Ashcroft.


I thought long and hard about tackling this one....I am sad today.