I have been contemplating death more and more these days. My work is often a solitary affair which allows for eight hours or more of intimate time with my Ipod and its’ contents. To this I’ve added some Shakespearean tragedies as well as Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Both the antique Roman emperor and the most famous of all English playwrights were familiar if not altogether unimpressed with death. The pilots of the RAF in the first days of the Blitz were called to the sky and therefor called to death for the purpose of saving their homeland. We are not so fortunate in this time to have such clarity of path or purpose behind our passing. Death has become ominous like the idea of rushing from an aircraft at ten-thousand feet to a wide-spread limbed belly-flop onto pavement some few minutes thereafter. We needn’t fear pain.
Death has crept ever closer this week with the passing of one of my father’s brothers. My uncle was a man who’s life is certainly beyond the describing of in a format such as this. When I was young he seemed to be a mysterious, successful, far away, intelligent southerner with a beautiful family; two terrific daughters. As I aged, my curiosity brought me to seek him out in a more intimate way. My uncle Lynn introduced me to the continents of Europe and Africa in 2004. He knew the city of London quite well, but the southern African nations we discovered for the first time together. He and I were on safari for 18 days. I always thought we would have one more trip together and, it seems, we will.
albaniacalling 