Pictures are our attempt to cheat death, we take them in the hopes that the captured moment will live forever; that we might one day become so great that the world will desire a glimpse of every portion of our lives, especially the earliest ones where we were mere mortals. This post is itself an example of the innumerable ways we all deny death’s inevitability. It’s nothing more than an attempt to immortalize the inaudible voice of a nonexistent author, so that maybe one day ravenous fans starving for any sort of material will marvel at the preservation of the informal word of such a literary Titan. Yet again, my hypocrisy knows no bounds.
Why is it then that I so willingly spew my ramblings to the universe, but withdraw like Dracula at daybreak as soon as a camera comes out? Is it because whenever I see myself my fabrege egg ego is immediately shattered, and all my flaws thrust into the light? Is it because I’ve become so self deprecating that I know nothing I do could ever be so earth shattering as to necessitate immortalization? Or is it simply because I know that in the world of photography versus literature I look far less leprous captured in the written word. Whatever the reason, I’ve chosen writing as my invisibility cloak for the reaper, and I’m not quite ready to throw it off and, “Greet death as an old friend.”
Thus begins my journey towards either immortalization, or reconciliation. Many of you know reconciliation by another phrase, “our time.” Our time, something often whispered through a sorrow laden conclusion in a vain attempt to explain the taking of a loved one before we would have them departed from us. Recently, I’ve come to think of it as this. Many elderly speak of being, “ready” for what the next journey may bring, some with the confidence that they know they go on to greet cherished loved ones, other with the faith that whatever lies ahead they’ll face it as they faced the struggles of mortality. What I believe this feeling truly is, is an understanding of just what that next journey is. It’s an admittance that the world we live in is imperfect, that it’s full of pain and anger, and that though we may have been blessed with the most love and happiness we’ve ever known, none of that has ever been the goal. No matter how peaceful or exciting or laden with riches our time as man has been, it is fleeting, it is but a blink in the span of eternal peace and joy we all seek. I think as one nears an understanding of that, our Lord begins his call to bring them home. Some reach their understanding through decades of love and nourishing of their souls, others arrive at this realization from a more unconventional, and often sadder method than we would like.
So as we complete our respective entries into the capsule of timelessness, I urge you all to find your eternal voice, be it written, visual, auditory, or in the rearing of further generations; because when our time comes, when Death finds us huddled under our cloaks and we reconcile the finite existence of our mortal selves, it is not for us that these creations will have been made. It is for those we precede in passing, who still struggle with the finality of human life, who grasp at any confirmation in their hope that we remain with them. Create your own forever, but as for mine, no photos please.