Phil RedBeard

Star Wars: Episode I (Rewritten)

Star Wars
Episode I: The Oncoming Storm

Opening Crawl

It is a dark time for the galaxy. Ambition and greed have started to corrupt the once great Galactic Republic.
The massive organs of commerce, after enacting harsh trade tariffs, have begun to enforce penalties on the defenseless planet of Alderaan with their remorseless droid armies.
Bail Organa, Senator of Alderaan, seeks to escape to the capital of the Republic so that he can plead with the newly elected President for help in this crisis…

Synopsis

Senator Bail Organa, seeing the imminent invasion of his home planet Alderaan by the Trade Federation is underway, and under orders from his Queen, the young Amidala, to seek help, manufactures an escape. While being pursued in a vicious space battle, his ship, the Tantive IV is damaged. He diverts to the small, outlying Tatooine system for repairs before continuing on to the galactic capital of Coruscant.

Meanwhile, the mysterious half droid, half man General Grievous leads an invasion of Alderaan. His mechanical limbs and tattooed face give him a fearsome appearance. The pitiful local resistance is swept away as Alderaan has no planetary defenses.

On Tatooine, Organa is finding the junk dealers mostly corrupt as he salvages for parts. A helpful teenage slave named Anakin Skywalker directs him to the local Jedi for help. Organa finds a young Jedi Knight named Obi-Wan Kenobi, who has himself been lead to a strong force presence in the area. Together with Anakin, the Senator and the Jedi hatch a plan to win the money needed betting on the morrow’s podrace. With Anakin piloting, who by now Kenobi has secretly identified as the strong Force presence he was seeking, the podrace is won. With the parts purchased and Organa about to leave, Kenobi incites the Senator to purchase Anakin and take him and the boy to Coruscant so that he can contact the Jedi Council.

Enroute to Coruscant, Kenobi begins lecturing Anakin about the history of the Jedi and Organa receives a burst transmission from Amidala detailing the atrocities of the invasion. Once on Coruscant, Organa seeks an audience with the newly elected President of the Republic while Kenobi and Anakin seek out the Jedi Council.

The Jedi Council, led by Master Yoda, accepts Anakin as their new pupil. He is assigned to Kenobi, at Kenobi’s insistence, as his padawan. Meanwhile, Palpatine hears Organa’s plea and admits something must be done. He orders a special session of the Senate and they vote to send the newly created Clone Army of the Republic to liberate Alderaan. The Jedi Council sends Kenobi and Skywalker, as guardians of peace and justice, to ensure that the Senator remains safe and that conventions of war are followed.

The Clone Army arrives and engages the Trade Federation in battle above the planet Alderaan while a small force penetrates to the planet below. The clones invade the palace and route the poorly fortified battle droids. Kenobi briefly engages General Grievous and realizes Grievous is a Sith Lord when he draws lightsaber against him. Meanwhile Anakin and Organa free Amidala. Kenobi is wounded as Grievous escapes. The droid control ship is destroyed in orbit and Alderaan is won.

End Credits

All I Want for Christmas

All I want for Christmas are a few little things. Feel free to ignore this list and buy me something really cool, or if you are feeling stuck, pick something and stick it under my parent’s tree. Suffice to say, if you don’t know how to get it under my parent’s tree (or contact me), you should probably be buying a gift for someone closer to your home tree. But thanks for the thought.

1. iPad Mini 4 or 2 $399+ or $269+, any capacity, prefer Space Gray, available almost anywhere iPad minis are sold. See http://www.apple.com/ipad-mini-4/

2. LEGO Palace Cinema #10232 $149.99, available on shop.lego.com or maybe your local Lego Store. See http://shop.lego.com/en-US/Palace-Cinema-10232?fromListing=listing

3. LEGO Darth Vader #75111 $29.99, available on shop.lego.com or anywhere Lego is sold (Lego Store, Walmart, Target, Toys R Us). See http://shop.lego.com/en-US/Darth-Vader-75111?fromListing=listing

4. LEGO Clone Commander Cody #75108 $19.99, available on shop.lego.com or anywhere Lego is sold (Lego Store, Walmart, Target, Toys R Us). See http://shop.lego.com/en-US/Clone-Commander-Cody-75108?fromListing=listing

5. LEGO Rey’s Speeder #75099 $19.99, available on shop.lego.com or anywhere Lego is sold (Lego Store, Walmart, Target, Toys R Us). See http://shop.lego.com/en-US/Rey-s-Speeder-75099?fromListing=listing

6. shop.lego.com gift card, any amount, so I can buy my own Lego. See http://shop.lego.com/en-US/Gift-Cards

7. ThinkGeek.com gift card, any amount, so I can buy something geeky. I would have listed a bunch of stuff, but the list is way too long. I’ll be just as happy to pick something myself. See https://www.thinkgeek.com/brain/order/certificate.cgi

8. iTunes gift card, any amount, sold almost anywhere gift cards are sold (Walmart, Target, etc) and online. I have a massive list of music, movies, and TV shows that I want and my preferred outlet for media is iTunes. See http://www.apple.com/shop/accessories/giftcards

9. Clothing – Take me shopping for best fits! – I need a nice sweater or two for church, size is XXL. I love geeky/nerdy/Star Wars apparel, such as socks and T-shirts (XXL).

10. I love the Green Bay Packers, the Cleveland Indians, and Star Wars. So anything related to those three franchises will sure be a hit.

Thank you and Merry Christmas!

True Christmas

Apparently the word “christmas” is a portmanteau of two words: Christ and mass for “Christ’s mass” or a Catholic church service celebrating the person of Christ, commonly called Jesus. Also, I’ve heard if you rearrange the words in Santa you get Satan, and both are sometimes seen as the enemy of Christ.

This is an essay about the phenomenon of Christmas, as I understand it, and some of the controversies that arise about Christmas every year in American popular culture. If that isn’t your cup of hot chocolate, feel free to stop reading and wait for my next treatise. Otherwise, let’s continue.

I think it is interesting that the color red is associated with Christmas, as it is also associated with the devil, who is depicted in paintings and other representations as wearing a red suit. You know who else wears a red suit? Santa “Satan” Claus. Coincidence? Probably. You see, I doubt anyone was paying close attention to things like that when they were designing Christmas iconography.

Santa, while having roots in Sinterklaas, a Dutch St. Nicholas who put gifts into children’s wooden shoes, and the 280 A.D. St. Nicholas of what is today Turkey, is actually more of a modern creation. The current vision of Santa Claus comes from the 1820’s in the United States when the poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” was published and a popular image of the saint (santa being Spanish for a feminine saint, by the way – as in Santa Fe) was drawn. One hundred years later, in the early 1930’s, the song “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was recorded, thus cementing the idea of Santa Claus as we know him in American culture.

What does this have to do with Christianity? Almost nothing, except that the basis of Santa, the St. Nicholases, were Catholic saints who helped poor children have food, clothing, and money during the cold winter months of Europe and West Asia. It certainly has nothing to do with organized Protestant religions. Nowhere in the Bible is such a figure represented, for example, though Christ certainly demands that his followers care for the orphan and the widow on multiple occasions, so the spirit of the saints may be Christian.

I’ve mentioned several times the association between Santa and Satan, which may seem weird given the history of Santa as a saint, but that is because Santa is vilified in certain Christian circles as the enemy of True Christmas. True Christmas, you see, has been and always was, about the birth of Christ, which occurred on, or near about, the 25th of December in a manger in Bethlehem as foretold by the Hebrew prophets. At least, that is the story many cling to. There are other Christian explanations for why we have a Christmas tree, and other common Christmas decor and trappings. (The tree representing the wood of the cross on which Jesus was destined to die to save the world from their sins, for example.)

But scholars put the birth of Christ near enough to September as to render part of that argument moot. So why the December rituals? Pagan winter solstice celebrations surrounding the Germanic/Norse god Odin, the All Father. The Catholic church had a unique way of conquering new geographic areas for religious purposes: they would very cleverly co-opt local deities and festivals, give them Christian names or associate them with Christian saints or events, and call the work of converting the locals complete. After building a few churches and making mass attendance mandatory under threat of punishment, the Catholic church suddenly had hundreds or thousands of new members (and lots more tithes for their coffers). Yule was a Germanic ritual holiday feast that occurred in mid-winter. Odin, the All Father, was lord of the feast. Call Odin “God” and Yuletide “Christmastide” and voila you have new converts and a new Christmas holiday.

Christmas is based on Catholic imperialism and pagan ritual. Jesus wasn’t born anywhere near December. The symbols of Christmas are purloined from local festivals. Where then is True Christmas? It seems that True Christmas is the myth and Santa and Christmas are the real reasons for the season.

With that paragraph I have enraged an entire swath of the Christian population that hold to their dearest of holidays with great reverence. You see, True Christmas, once again, has been and always will be solely about the birth of Christ come to redeem us from our sins and eternal death in hell, according to them. “Merry Christmas” is no mere greeting, it is a holy incantation meant to hallow the season. That is why these Christians are so enraged when someone, or an organization, fails to wish them “Merry Christmas” and instead substitutes “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings”. In fact, the simple act of trying to avoid offense greatly offends them.

America has been and hopefully always will be a pluralistic society. It was founded with the key goal of religious freedom, so that Catholics and Protestants and Methodists and Orthodox (and whoever else) could worship freely. That is what some of the Pilgrims were escaping in Europe after all – religious persecution. Therefore, in today’s America, recognizing that the stranger who orders a coffee in your local Starbucks may be a Christian, or a Wicca, or a Muslim, or a devout Jew and may be celebrating Christmas, the Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, or no holiday at all, some people choose to avoid the scandal of “which greeting is correct for your religion” and instead substitute a generic, secular greeting. Recognizing, quite correctly after all, that Christmas has nothing to do with religion whatsoever, especially in 2015, in fact “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings” becomes the appropriate greeting.

Starbucks this year, which has traditionally used a red cup with generic holiday imagery to celebrate the fall and winter holidays, has decided to use no imagery at all and has apparently instructed their employees not to say “Merry Christmas” and has therefore come under fire from Christians who celebrate True Christmas for taking the “Christ out of Christmas” and perpetuating a cultural “War on Christmas”. These are the same Christians that become outraged when a public Nativity scene is removed from public property or when a Christmas tree is called a holiday tree and really the list goes on. They say that maintaining a Christmas without the True Christmas Christ is akin to blasphemy and they don’t care that they share an America with those of many faiths or no faith at all. This is why they also, traditionally, dislike the saintly Saint Nick. In their view, Santa Claus takes away from the central position of the baby Jesus in the manger in Bethlehem.

The reality, as I’ve said, is that America is a secular, pluralistic nation. You are free to create a Christmas holiday that is about the birth of Christ and celebrate it however feels appropriate, but that does not come with an inherent right to force others to celebrate your Christmas. By failing to wish you your preferred greeting, persecution or war is not being levied. This is simply America being America. Furthermore, you can create a Christmas holiday that is about the birth of Christ, but that doesn’t make it historical or Biblical. In fact, the Biblical Jesus, I believe, would have Christians emulate Father Christmas and care for the orphan and the widow and as widely as possible give food, clothing, and money to those less fortunate. That, in my view, is the True Christmas one should fight for, not Christmas iconography on disposable coffee cups or the cashier saying “Merry Christmas”.

With that in mind, I wish you Happy Holidays. Thanks for reading.

Remember, Remember or What Guy Fawkes Day Means to Me

Today is the fifth of November, and you might hear, or see people on social media sites quoting from the film V for Vendetta or the graphic novel it was based on or the old traditional Guy Fawkes rhymes “remember, remember, the fifth of November, gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot” and the history that it was based on.

That history is Guy Fawkes Day, which in short, is a commonwealth holiday that celebrates the failed plot to assassinate King James I in 1605 by one Guy Fawkes of the Gunpowder Plot. Whatever the original reasons Fawkes and his cronies had for killing the English monarch, it is clear that his failed plot’s celebration means more to people today, and more to me, than just a failed murder.

I abhor violence, and don’t believe in death as a way to move a social agenda forward so I might be called a traditionalist when it comes to the celebration of a failed assassination. In fact, my introduction to the world of Guy Fawkes and the “fifth of November” cult that has grown up around him comes through the film V for Vendetta. In the film, a future Britain is controlled by a totalitarian regime that has become, or perhaps always was, evil and that government is taken down by a man in a Guy Fawkes-esque mask known only as V.

It is a wonderful film, and I suppose its primary message is “People should not be afraid of their governments, governments should be afraid of their people” but I am no revolutionary, at least not one of swords and drums and guns. Indeed, if there is a quote from the film that sums me up, in so much as a film quote can, it is this one: “Ideas are bulletproof.”

The protagonist of the film, Evie Hammond, a small, frightened girl who becomes a patriot afire for the cause under the tutelage of V, says that one “cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it; ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love” and while all that certainly sounds true it isn’t quite accurate. Evie is speaking of the man behind the ideas, her Guy Fawkes that she loves, and how her love for him is more real to her than his ideas are and I think she misses the point of her own drama.

Ideas do not die. Ideas can change the world. All the women and men who have ever fought for an idea have died forgotten. We do not remember their names. We only remember why they fought, why they died. I know nothing about the real Guy Fawkes, all I know is his idea: that one could change the world through gunpowder, treason, and plot. And while he ultimately failed, people still believe that to this day. That idea is pervasive and powerful.

I believe that ideologies and ideas are more powerful than puny bombs and bullets. I believe that one day we will lay aside weapons of mass destruction as a means of advancing ideas and instead fight directly with words. Words cannot be stopped by force. Words endure the death of the speaker. Words shape ideas. Words are remembered.

That is what I do, each fifth of November: I remember. I remember the ideas that have come before me, that inspire me, that challenge me. I may not remember who first generated the idea, or why they died, but I do remember the words they used to articulate that idea. I remember the words they used to advance that idea.

And I try, just as they did, to articulate my own ideas with words. It is likely no one may remember me, but there is a chance they will remember my words, and my ideas. My ideas that love triumphs over hate, that prejudice and fear are transitory and that acceptance and unity will win the day. That reaching for something is just as important as grasping it. That moving forward will always trump moving backwards. That every inch is just as far as a mile. That ideas are bulletproof.

So today, remember, remember the fifth of November and remember the ideas that created today, and generate some ideas that will create a better tomorrow.

Ten Years Down the Road

With the haunted look of a midnight rider I stare into the mirror, bloodshot eyes staring back at me. I can see in the reflection cracked plaster and unoccupied bathroom stalls. This is my third gas station in two days, and they all look the same. Each station sells the same wares, has the same tiled floors, and each station attendant wears the same tired smile. I can’t tell if I am in Wisconsin, Wyoming, or Grayville, Missouri, which in my sleep deprived brain has become Gravyville and an inside joke with my passenger.

I picked up a highly metaphorical man in Joplin, Missouri and we are driving toward the rising of the sun and old friends in new locales. This man I haven’t seen in ten years, yet we slipped into casual conversation and deep affection as easily as we slipped into sleeping bags last night for a brief respite, he on the left, I on the right, at least until I started snoring an avalanche of nasal somniloquys and he was forced to vacate the premises.

Where was I again? Oh yeah, a gas station bathroom in Grayville, MO. I blink my eyes again, sigh again, and turn off the water faucet. I stumble out, not quite as tired as I make out, and consider buying one of a dozen different snacks. Eventually I decide against them all and purchase an overpriced bottle of SmartWater, the only brand of bottled water I enjoy. $2 later I’m back in the car and ready for more driving. I have to traverse Illinois and Indiana before I will enter Kentucky and be close to my destination. When all is said and logged, I will have driven nearly 1000 miles to be where I was this past weekend: Cincinnati, Ohio.

I spent the weekend with fourteen of my high school mates, not counting assorted spouses and adorable children named Ender and Zaya. We met, once upon a long ago, in the country of Papua New Guinea, out upon the western rim of the world. Our parents were there collectively for mission work, and we were there to be shiny, happy children attending missionary school. Then there were 42 of us, and like the good book says, we were the answer to life, the universe, and everything, at least in our own minds. There was little we could not accomplish, or reach out and grasp and have as our very own. And to some extent, we have accomplished much. Some of us are nurses, or aide workers, or family therapists. We are salesmen, teachers, and studying to be so much more than we are currently.

It was an almost overwhelming experience when I first walked into our reserved room at the Marriott and saw old, familiar faces. It is amazing how fast ten years comes rushing back into your brain with just a glimpse and a glance. The next forty-two hours were far too short a time to spend amongst such excellent and admirable people. We played games, hung out in a brewery, walked Oktoberfest, talked amongst ourselves, took a river cruise and ate more bacon than we should have, considering we are not getting any younger, and not speaking for anyone else, it was a blast from the past and the time of my life. As a culminating event of the summer, for me, the reunion was the absolute best I could have hoped for from life.

You see, I’d been struggling to find my identity again in the wake of a divorce. I needed to know again who I was and where I had come from. Who I am is still a bit of a mystery, but I can now say again with confidence that I have come from Papua New Guinea. I have a life I left behind there, and fragments of that life were embedded in the women and men I saw this past weekend. Having them all there, celebrating life and the past ten years was like putting the pieces back together for me. Part of my identity now looked like more than jagged edges of a half-completed jigsaw puzzle. It looked like me, once upon a long ago. And I liked what I saw.

On the long journey home, between discussions of blue wizards and ancient beings from myth, my compatriot and I stopped off at another gas station. There, in another mirror, streaked with grime and fingerprints, I saw a younger man, a man full of purpose and self-awareness. And after he walked out I saw myself as I once was: young, with the world at my fingertips and life ahead of me.

Ten years down the road, I’ve found a part of me I had lost. And it feels good to be just that little bit more whole again.

Mad Max: Hard Rockatansky

Beyond thunder the road furls full and long
a white line nightmare twisted black so wrong
so long ago in the way back a cop
under the dome of V8 power drops
fury so hot upon the rock and roller
the fuel injected out of controller
that he became a terminal crazy
out into fire and blood under hazy
dust kicked up by rubber and the chrome
of war and boys so young to die un-homed
but how the world like wheels it turns so fast
to hunt and haunt the dead alive to Master
survive revive again the wasted land
Ho! Ho! Here comes the mad Immortan hand
to crush the steel steal back Valhalla’s souls
she’s meanness set to music sweet and cold
a carburetor bitch guns born outruns
ev’ry thing shiny, blazing under sun
this maelstrom of decay black fueled death
the Ayatollah of rock and rolla wrests
a tune from metal wire two men enter
for dyin’ time is here to take the venter
well ain’t we a pair a ragged man
and imperator who rides eternal van
oh what a lovely day! to die historic

A poem inspired by the Mad Max films, and drawing on the imagery, dialogue and themes of each without specifically mentioning the titular character or the titles.

The Hellcats, a Field Report

From the universes of BattleTech and MechWarrior…

To: Field Marshall Appo
From: Colonel Cody
Re: Hellcats

Sir, you requested a recommendation from me for your new special forces lance and I think I have just the unit you are looking for. The Hellcats, led by Lance Commander Hilary Cross, is an all female lance of heavy assault mechs. They emerged after the heavy losses during the Battle of Crimson Moon. Several mangled units were thrown together to form a new lance and it wasn’t until later that someone noticed that every dossier was labeled “F”. Someone in command shrugged it off and ordered them into combat. The offensives were vicious and most didn’t care where the cannon fodder came from or what it was made of. They needed soldiers, and gender simply wasn’t a factor. It wasn’t until the Battle of Crimson Moon became the Crimson Moon Offensive, the name alteration implying a change from stalemate trench war fought mostly with missile mechs to a winning campaign fought by everybody else, that anybody noticed that this all-female lance was leading the charge. Word spread, and the word in lance command was that they had synced their periods with their combat rotation so as to be as fierce as possible in battle. Mostly I think that’s horseshit, but there is no denying their effectiveness. The Hellcats boast more enemy kills than the rest of the battalions in their brigade. It is my recommendation, Marshall, that the Hellcats be given the best of material, armor and ammunition and be upgraded from combat lance to special forces lance and given missions accordingly. I don’t think you will find a more devastating lance of heavy mechs on this moon and to pull an elite force from a different arena would not only waste a dropship, but be to the detriment of the overall offensive. The Hellcats are already familiar with the enemy, the terrain, and the objectives. Properly equipped, they’ll do the job and then some. Let the basterds from Clan Osiris meet up with the Hellcats in the dark alley of Crimson Canyon and see who emerges victorious. It won’t be no dandy pants royalty that’s for sure!

Love Wins

For Robin, Ashley, Rachel, Laura and all others who today are acknowledged as the equals they already were.

How to explain what happened today to children of all ages:

Ahem.

“Now everyone in America has the right to marry whomever they love. They didn’t before and that was sad.”

I’ve tried to avoid the soapboxes and the arguments, but I’ve read too much today to stay silent. People whom I love now have the same rights as I do where yesterday they did not. This is no small thing to me. Others want to decry this as society slouching towards Gomorrah, but I rather see it as towards Bethlehem, where society is being reborn to newness of life.

Those couched in traditional Christian church culture will recognize that I am using the language of baptism. That is deliberate. A baptism signifies for a church that someone has moved from disbelief to belief, from apostasy to affirmation of truth. And that is what has happened in America today. America has been baptized into a new truth, the truth that Neanderthals and HomoSapiens are equal. The truth that people of different color are equal. The truth that people of different genders are equal.

And just as before, in a dark, racist past, where blacks and whites were unable, by law, to marry and “intermingle” as this was abhorrent and immoral and wrong and that was proved to be the odious, sickening language of hate and ignorance, so too now, we are emerging from a dark, sexist present where gays and lesbians were unable, by law, to marry and “intermingle” as this was abhorrent and immoral and wrong and that too has proved to be the odious, sickening language of hate and ignorance.

We have been baptized into a new future, where ALL legal, consenting adults have the freedom under the law to marry whomever they love. Love has won the day! Now those that were once marginalized are now as mainstream as the rest of us.

Is this the decay of society, a future of woe and trouble? Only time will tell, but like the ending of apartheid, and segregation, and the birth of Civil Rights, I think history will shine out the brighter after this. Rights acknowledged for one is rights acknowledged for all.

But what about religion, founded on a Bible, a Bible that seems to say that such homosexual behavior is deviant and wrong? Usually I don’t care about a dissenting opinion to freedom and truth, no matter how vocal or quiet, but in this case I know many who might read this who are genuinely struggling with this question. I am no Bible scholar, but I will say this: perhaps those passages have been misread. Perhaps it is your interpretation of them that is lacking. Or, if the Bible really does say exactly what you think it says, then maybe the Bible is simply wrong. The Bible is wrong about a great many things: morally, culturally, scientifically, and socially. How do you know this is not one more error?

I understand that for you this is a matter of deep belief and long held tradition, but know this: beliefs and traditions change in all sorts of ways and for all sorts of reasons. Remember those who held most strongly to the idea that blacks and whites shouldn’t marry? Many of them were your physical and spiritual ancestors of a time not that long ago. Their beliefs and traditions were based as strongly on the Bible as your beliefs about homosexuality and they were as wrong. Please do not live an unexamined life.

As far as the Bible, and everything else goes, I believe that love conquers all. Love’s greatest champion was a Jewish guy named Yeshua. I follow his example and love all, regardless of what an ancient text may or may not say. Love conquers bad theology, upside down society, inequality, and ignorance.

Today, love has won.

The Final Rest

Recently, my grandmother died and with her I lost the final of my closest grandparents.

When my grandparents came to visit, usually around Christmas time, my family and I would enjoy the time with them and wish it would last forever. But, as always happened, the time came to an end. They would pull their car out of the driveway, and head down the street. My brother Nate and I had this tradition: we would run on the sidewalk alongside the car as fast and as long as we could until we could no longer stay abreast. Then we would stop and pant and have a rest and wave goodbye.

Some of my grandmother’s last words were “maybe I just need to rest”.

I doubt she knew she was destined to die just hours later. But she longed for rest.

I cannot stand here and tell you with surety what happens after death, but I can tell you for certain what my grandmother believed. She believed in a swift flight to a celestial city and a reuniting with her Savior, Jesus, and the love of her life, my grandfather.

I am no theologian nor scientist; I don’t know what happens when breathing ceases. But I can tell you about a life. My grandmother’s life was a long journey full of happiness and joy. But the thing about long journeys is they often tire the soul and come with setbacks and sorrow. And you long for rest at the end.

My grandmother lived surrounded by many friends, family, and loved ones. She enjoyed nothing more than serving others and loving many. Many can attest to my grandmother’s caring way. But it wasn’t always easy, especially of late as injury and illness started to steal her vitality. And more and more the loneliness of lost love weighed on her heart. And she longed for rest.

I’d like to think that somewhere, my grandparents are reunited, once again young lovers full of life.

But I simply don’t know. What I do believe, what I hope, is that after death came a rest. A rest from this world, perhaps in another.

Did heaven await my grandmother in the form of God’s arms and grandpa’s embrace?

I only know this: my grandmother is finally at rest, from all sorrow and weariness and pain. And that is a comfort to me.

On Friday last week, we laid my grandmother to rest in the Ohio ground. I wrote the following to memorialize that rest.

Into the ground, into dust.
We weep the sorrow of failed fires
and ashes to ashes.

Like the old prayer rhyme
Now I lay her down
To sleep the forever sleep

I pray what lord on high
Her soul to snatch
And in bulwarks keep

Here on earth her shell
Is buried, betwixt her beloveds
‘Neath earth’n deep

Into the ground, into dust.
We weep the sorrow of failed fires
and ashes to ashes.

I will miss my grandparents, now that they no longer walk this earth, but at least they are both together now and are at rest.

Celebrating Life

On April 3rd, The Fast and the Furious 7 will hit theaters, and with it the sharp reminder of franchise star Paul Walker’s death last year. He died doing what he loved: driving.

Today, March 12th, is my birthday.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure I was going to see Furious 7. I wasn’t even sure that I was going to see today. That time was not that long ago, and I haven’t told anyone what I am about to say now, except for my therapist who helped me live through it.

Several months ago now, but still recent enough to haunt me, I was sure I was going to die, and not in any macabre way, I was sure I was going to kill myself. I literally saw no future beyond January 1st. My depression had started to overwhelm me, and I was drowning in it. Days were literally as well as figuratively dark and cold. I looked up and saw no sky; I looked out and saw no horizon. I was alone and I was suffocating on nothing.

I had one thing before me: my sister’s wedding. I had nothing after that. I was determined that I was going to attend the wedding and have one last good time and then end it all. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” as the saying goes. I knew I was going to see my immediate family at the wedding, and so I could say one last goodbye and be done with life on this terrestrial sphere.

The wedding was as wonderful as could be. It was warm, sunny, and the happiest of occasions, but a darkness and a chill had settled in my core. I knew my days were shorter rather than longer. Once the wedding week was done so was I. I used up any positive energy I had left smiling for pictures and keeping it together so as to not ruin my sister’s big moments.

I returned from the wedding and stared down a calendar of days until the 1st of January. I manage to stave off hospitalization because I told my therapist I wouldn’t do anything to myself until at least then, but I knew that day was coming.

I welcomed it. I cherished the thought of the final release. When one has nothing to live for, one tends to think of the end as blissful nothingness. I hoped, and still do, that there is no afterlife. One life is enough pain and struggle and weariness without another life to endure. When I do die, I want that to be it, for it all to be over. I don’t want to live again, or to live eternally. As the philosopher Yoda said on his death bed, “Forever sleep: earned it, I have.” I want to earn my forever sleep.

More than anything, that dark December of last year, I wanted my forever sleep. My weariness screamed for it.

And then, just when it was almost over, just when I had the bottle of pills in my hand, when I grew tired of setting it back down, unopened, just then I found a glimmer of something else.

Hope.

Hope for a future, for a better tomorrow shone through my deepest depression. I decided to make a radical decision for life instead of against it. I decided that January 1st was not going to be my last day on earth. I can’t tell you exactly where that minuscule drop of hope came from, or why I decided to delay death, but I did. In my mind, I simply decided to see exactly how long I could stretch life. At the time, I didn’t know how long that would be. At least another day. At most, a week. Here I am, three and a bit months later, still going.

Along the way, I decided to move to Texas, to physically grasp a brighter, warmer, sunnier future. I decided to leave all I could behind me, and strike out for something new. I am making my run for the border, eating and drinking and being merry for tomorrow I live.

In just a few weeks, I will sit down in a theater and watch the Fast and the Furious 7, and silently, simultaneously, mourn Paul Walker’s death and honor his life, and I will do what I have been doing since January 1st: I will live fast and furiously, one quarter mile at a time, until I have earned a natural end and a forever sleep.

No more do I contemplate my own death, at my hand or by Nature’s. It will come when it comes. For now, there is living to do. And never more have I been aware of that than today, on my birthday, as I turn 28 and start a brand new year. I honestly did not think I would see today, but here the sun sets and this day is almost over. Another one is coming.