"The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn't hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger...watch it grin.
suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please."
- M*A*S*H Theme Tune
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger...watch it grin.
suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please."
- M*A*S*H Theme Tune
The poet in a time of oblivion clings to the shadows of the dead gods. Like all poets, Karura found it impossible not to lie. Not the lies of betrayal, but the lies of pomposity, self-importance, world-importance. He had tasted oblivion, soared with the gods and lived with nothing in mind. Yet Karura still lied.
The question returned again and again. How, if at all, could one live an authentic life? By authentic, Karura meant so much more than a vague 'being true to your nature' or that most overused cliche, 'carpe diem'. Seize the day? Follow your heart? Do what thou wilt? All these have their place, but all are cliche. Karura also reflected upon Albert Camus' suggestion that all a man needs to do to be happy is to go along with the general way of things. But that itch, that gnawing, that ache of the soul still tore deep into Karura as he tended his garden and waited.
Karura would be leaving his house soon. The house his love had cried over when she thought it had been lost. The house that still shone brightly beneath the insult of Karura's neglect. The house that was meant to be home, but had been wiped away like a grease-paint mask. These past few days, Karura had attacked the weeds with a passion. Why did he feel the need to make everything right before he left?
Karura had two options. He could either fall into the general way of things and accept that promises are empty and love is as fickle as the beloved disciple, or he could blindly defy the world, continue to push that rock up the mountain and find a way to live which was real, to him.
This had become the age of decisions. Karura had rejected suicide as a betrayal of absurdity. It was a difficult decision given the weight of expectation, but he could not come to terms with nothingness as freedom, and freedom was all he had left to which to aspire.
What did Karura love? The myth of his past life still seared into him and would always do so without radical exorcism. Decisions have to be made. Decisions that would hurt.
And yet, once made, those decisions would have to be binding. There was no going back. Karura could see things clearly now.
Karura kissed his beautiful boys as they lay sleeping, then crept out to the mountains for the last time. Regardless, he would climb now. Naked, alone, soaked to the skin, cold and deflated. He would climb higher and higher right up until his dying breath. No glory, no shame, no pride, no love - just a cold, deliberate ascent.
Karura would be leaving his house soon. The house his love had cried over when she thought it had been lost. The house that still shone brightly beneath the insult of Karura's neglect. The house that was meant to be home, but had been wiped away like a grease-paint mask. These past few days, Karura had attacked the weeds with a passion. Why did he feel the need to make everything right before he left?
Karura had two options. He could either fall into the general way of things and accept that promises are empty and love is as fickle as the beloved disciple, or he could blindly defy the world, continue to push that rock up the mountain and find a way to live which was real, to him.
This had become the age of decisions. Karura had rejected suicide as a betrayal of absurdity. It was a difficult decision given the weight of expectation, but he could not come to terms with nothingness as freedom, and freedom was all he had left to which to aspire.
What did Karura love? The myth of his past life still seared into him and would always do so without radical exorcism. Decisions have to be made. Decisions that would hurt.
And yet, once made, those decisions would have to be binding. There was no going back. Karura could see things clearly now.
Karura kissed his beautiful boys as they lay sleeping, then crept out to the mountains for the last time. Regardless, he would climb now. Naked, alone, soaked to the skin, cold and deflated. He would climb higher and higher right up until his dying breath. No glory, no shame, no pride, no love - just a cold, deliberate ascent.
