A kerfuffle has emerged, on my father's side of the family, yes, America's worst nightmare, rednecks with a little bit of money.. anyway someone wants to move things around and get buried in the family plot, and my dear old dad, just wants them to ask him for permission.
You know, for those of us NOT concerned with our earthly remains, I can't think of anything worse, anything stupider and more useless, to get filled with wax and formaldehyde, and made up in some kind of hideous "lifelike" Lovecraftian simulacron, nothing would horrify my existential self more.
Take this hard-working, startlingly functional carcass, and first of all, take what other people need. Take my beautiful menisci, which in my late 30s, were described as the menisci of a teenager, despite a lifetime of crazy budo.
Take the corneas and retina of my incredibly well-functioning eyes. Take my taxed liver, give my kidneys to my friend Brad Wye, if it's a match. If it's not, find some kid who needs a second chance.
One of my dad's disappointments, was that, when he reached a certain age (76 this September) he couldn't be an organ donor any more.
I don't have a lot of patience with people who get hung up on useless remains.
Make them useful. Fish, or cut bait.
"Believing in this living, is a hard row to hoe.." (Angel from Montgomery)
I run into these obstinate vendettas, and just shake my head, while understanding my own obstinance within it.
I do believe in living. I believe in contributing to living.
"I'm not ready to make nice, I'm not ready to back down".. (Dixie Chicks)
My mother and I have driven around with this amazing CD in the car, both of us in tears, both of us understanding each other, and both of us wanting to somehow reach beyond the vendettas.
"They say, time heals everything, but I'm still waiting". (Dixie Chicks)
At some point, someone, usually the same 20 percent, who has been giving more all along, has to create a controlling interest.
That said, those in the position to give, are usually the ones who have kept better track of their resources all along. This creates resentment in those, who have not.
I have been there, and I have felt that.
I have also learned, that it was my own fault.
Of course it's hard, when things don't come easy, but little worth having, does.
If you are afraid of work, you are afraid of life.
My teachers taught me that knowledge is transmitted via sweat, and I took it to heart. I have no fear of work, perseverance (shugyo) and even blind exhaustion.
I am older, my endurance is shorter, but I will never stop trying to extend it through simple cardiovascular and weight training. I don't want simple physical limitations to stop my inquiry.
My profession is geared to erasing physical limitations, and I rely on it myself. Granted, since I left Germany, the work I get is not as amazing, but it does still help.. oh, who am I kidding. One hour on my teacher PS's table made me Superwoman, until I fell down a hill six weeks later, and disorganized my pelvis again.
Since then, I just feel like I need to get back to Europe, to get my groove back. Last time I returned to the EU, I just felt like I woke from a bad dream in which I was stuck in the USA..
Bury me not on the high prairie, but take my parts and pieces, give them away. Burn the rest, and bury it under a wild rose-bush.
In my waking hours, my willing time, let me go back to an orderly society, where health care, pension, and security has something like a guarantee, where manual therapy is not a gutter idea, rarely recompensed, looked down on, and shunned..