No, but reallya"what does happen when we die?
Itas hard to believe from the way Iave been yammering on here, but I do know that thereas a time to talk and a time to let your silence do the talking. And thatas where my tattoo comes in. A lot of people get tattoos as a fashion thing, or to be aedgya or whatever. Thereas nothing wrong with that. Itas just that I happened to put a little more thought into my own tattoo. Itas the Chinese characters for aPeacea framed in an interlaced Celtic pattern. Call me crazy, but I think itas important to be open to wisdom from all cultures. Just doing my part to subvert the dominant paradigm, thatas all.
I try not to talk about my views too much, but every once in a while Iall casually roll up my sleeve and wait for someone to ask, aHey whatas with that tattoo?a This can be a useful point of departure for elevating the conversation above the usual gossip about reality television programs. aThe world becomes what you teachaa"I donat know who said that, but I definitely believe it.
Of course, usually no one mentions my tattoo, even if I jut my arm forward suggestively. And thatas fine. People arenat always as receptive as youad like, and you have to roll with that. Bide your time. I should know, Iave gotten plenty of practice. If they gave out patches for Time Biding, Iad make Eagle Scout for sure. Joe Bidina, thatas what they call me. But Iam in a positive place about it.
Itas hard to be positive about death, though, even remembering what my mom said about it. Thatas why I donat want to finish here without taking the question up directly: What happens when we die? The question of death is the question of life, and I salute you for your bravery in asking. For it is truly a terrifying mystery that spreads above all of humanity like a great eagle silhouetted against the sun. Will I pretend to have the answer? No, I wonat. But will I presume to make a suggestion anyway? Yes, I will: Even as it floats with an evil persistence between us and the noonday sun of our everyday bustle, take courage from the noble shape of this hovering silhouette. For just as this shadow threatens to overwhelm your existence, so, too, does the sun looming behind it threaten to overwhelm its inky blackness with a blazing glory. The struggle of darkness against light mirrors our own struggle against darkness. These two forces are also mirrors of each other, so thereas one more level of mirror-ness for you to keep in mind. The mere mirror-ality of all reality, I guess you could call it.
Of course the struggle will only continue to produce more shadow and more light. And where does that leave us? With an inextricable mixture of both. Salt and pepper. Yin and yang. Cake and coffee. John and Paul. What is any of them without the other? The trick is to enjoy the light, even mixed as it is with darkness. Like I said, I donat have any answers, but I suppose if you pressed me on the issue, Iad say Iam a bit of a we-live-on-in-hearts-and-minds man myself. At least we know from direct experience that people do live on in our hearts, as surely as we remember our first cookie. I guess what Iam trying to say is, I love you, Mom, wherever you are.
In Conclusion: Some final thoughts.
So thatas pretty much it.
Now that the book is done, itas back to my day job. I know Iam lucky to even have a job. The job market is lookinga"everything is lookinga"a bit bleak right now. Thereas no reason, however, for us to take this bleakness into our spirits.
People here in the Pacific Northwest are known to suffer from SAD, which is when youare sad that itas winter and dark all the time. I like to remind them that the sun isnat as inaccessible as they might think. Thereas a full spectrum of goodness in even the most overcast skies, and the sunas blessings may be no farther than a brisk afternoon walk away. Iad like to think that lightness of spirit is one of your atake-awaysa from this time weave had together.
Maybe, however, itas just the opposite for you. Maybe all my friendly reminders have made you feel, on the contrary, heavy and burdened. And you feel this way knowing full well that I have endeavored to deliver my material in as fun a manner as possible. Thatas totally fine. It wouldnat be very professional of me to take that personally, would it? No, freedom of thought is one right no one can take from you. Please think whatever you want.
But in that case I do have one last suggestion for you: Go take a rumspringa. You know, how Amish young people are allowed, for a set period of time, to drink, smoke, and otherwise break the rules of their community? You, too, should take a complete break from the principles weave talked about here. Show that you can aloosen upa with the best of them. Stop recycling. Drink macrobrews and watch professional sports. Drive everywhere. Donat wave when someone lets you change lanes. Kill spiders in your house rather than trapping and freeing them in a silently improvised ceremony of karmic self-blessing. Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart and have them octuple-bag everything. Walk around with a cell phone pressed to your ear at all times, even if no oneas on the line, and say things like, aYeah, thatas one sales forecast Iad like to see, let me tell you what, you crazy bastard! You still in for tonight, you miserable cock-sucker? Shooters at Hooters, my friend, shooters at Hooters!a Do this at every farmeras market in town. Put down your phone only long enough to tell the Vietnamese farmer that his organic tomatoes are lumpy and not as red as the ones at Safeway. Ask Grease Monkey for all their used oil and pour it into the gutter in front of your house while glaring defiantly at your neighbors. Rent a Hummer and tailgate Vespas. Lean on the horn and call out, aGet a car, Fancy Man!a Name your dog aFuckoa and make him walk around in a suit of chain mail on hot days. Hitch him to a wagon and make him pull you in it. Snap a whip over his head and scream things like aMove yer ass, Fucko!a and aIama cut your balls off all over again, Fucko!a At the end of your rumspringa, please report back to me as to whether it made you happier or not.
Except I guess you canat on account of weare saying good-bye now. I hope you can make it out for a visit to Seattle sometime. Unless you already live here. In either case, perhaps we may someday exchange tense smiles as we pass on the sidewalk. When you canat find yourself on the x-axis, Iall be the one sending you discreet hand signals about who should use which side of the sidewalk. Follow my hastily improvised pantomime and together weall have a prance at the whole letas-not-collide thing.
Epilogue.
Back to the day job What office supplies should we reorder?
CO-WORKING CARL.
Iam going to back a dark horse on this one, Carl: rubber bands. They sort of fly under the office supplies radar, donat they? Theyare certainly not as prominent as copy machine paper or whiteboard markers. But when you really need one, thereas no substitute for a rubber band. Like when youave got a teetering stack of letters and you want to make it a tidy bundle so badly it makes your brain itch. Thatas a bad feeling. Itas a rubber band-shaped hole in your spirit, is what it is.
I certainly support the decision to start ordering the environmentally friendly ones, the Green-Os, even though they tend to break. Can I tell you something though? I have a whole box of the old ones in my desk. So if you need one sometime, feel free to ask. No, Iam not going to ajust give you a handful of them.a I said if you need one sometime, Iad be more than happy to give you one at that time. As long as this doesnat happen more than, say, a couple times a month.
No, Iam not hoarding. That is incorrect. Ten dry-erase markers in your bottom drawer, thatas hoarding. Like, ahem, she whom we know whom I mean whom! This box of rubber bands, on the other hand, is no more than a supply I might reasonably expect to need for my own personal use. I know the policy. Iam definitely in fair territory here.
Ooh! You know what we should order? As a gag? Some of those jumbo paper clips. Then at the end of the next meeting of Larryas direct reports, we can say, aOops, we almost forgot, thereas one more thing,a then take out a stack of papers labeled aLawsuit Against Larrya with the jumbo paper clip on it.
What do you mean youare anot feeling ita? What is that expression even supposed to mean? OK, fine. If you donat want to lighten your chi with the therapeutic application of humor, thatas the brand of mouthwash youare stuck with, my friend. But, oh! I almost forgot! Do you have like two or three hours this afternoon to help me with that PowerPoint presentation?
Thanks Kazuko, Kaia, Mom, Dad, Mark Fefer, Brian Miller, Mike Seely, Nina Shapiro, the Seattle Weekly, Rod Filbrandt, Jessica Sindler, Kate Lee, Mike Stoesz, Sarah Stoesz, Bess Imber, Katie Doemland, Nicole Ghazal, Cynthia Chapman, Geof Miller, Porter Hall, Tim Sirotnik, Tim Dempsey, Allan Hockett, Stuart Rivchun, Scott Kuhlman, Marcela Valdes, Elizabeth Jameson, Li Ravicz, Grant Fjermedal, Lorraine Johnson, John Stanley and Irving Tripp, Markos and Stef, Loretta and Marc, Helen and Dick, Bonnie and Clyde, Tom Wolfe, B. R. Myers, Knute Berger, Murray Morgan, New Spirit Journal, Conscious Choice Magazine, Suzzallo Library, Greenwood Library, the continuously sighing guy in the Greenwood Library, Microsoft, Candy Floss, Mr. Gyros, Maeas Tofu Breakfast, Herkimer Coffee, Spudka Vodka, Marguie, Peter, the Rude Pop Deities, the Head Monkeys, the Witchita Lineman, the Cascades over the Lake, and the Olympics over the Sound.
About the author.
The Uptight Seattleite majored in Japanese Studies and has a masturbatoras degree in Comparative Religion. He is a thinker, a writer, a seeker, and a columnist for the Seattle Weekly. His yoga practice is his laughter practice is his personal revolution. He believes in discovering beauty and weaving it into transformation. He believes in the power of active listening. Shh! Hear that? Itas the sound of your own listening! He has been single for many years.
About the illustrator Rod Filbrandt lives in Vancouver and is the author of Dry Shave, a collection of his noir- and booze-soaked comics.