"Live your life, do your work, then take your hat." -- Henry David Thoreau
GEORGE ORWELL cites, "Existence is odd"; which is to say that life is odd, because it is full of oddness.
So it is odd, that as I live and breathe to hear of the death of basketball legend Kobe Bryant, all I can think about for the next hour and more were those Saturday Night Live skits where Maya Rudolph plays his wife Vanessa post confessed extra-marital affair. Of course, the memories made me chuckle ... which just didn't seem right.
Facing the sudden, thus tragic, death of a celebrity you admire is itself an odd thing. People weep and gnash their teeth. Later on, some of these will try to throw themselves atop, or under the wheels of, the hearse carrying the object of their adoration to last repose.
Out and beyond
Such fervor ... from people who actually did not know the dead.
I mean, fans (and I've been there) boast of knowing "everything" about their icons' lives; which seem so exposed and out in the open. Really, though, we exist with knowledge that's more like the outskirts of these people's stories; or may even be outright fiction.
The truth, rather than the reality of them, is beyond us. Shall ever the twain meet?
As I am writing this, my opposite neighbour is playing what sounds like a Best Of John Denver compilation. Again, oddly parallel.
The weight of souls
I looked up the "facts" of Kobe's accident before I began writing this post, and for me it was far more heartbreaking to hear that his 13-year-old daughter had died in the crash as well.
We are all like that mostly, though: measuring the who's gone and placing more weight on one's leaving than the other. There were several people on that helicopter. All died. To the family and friend's of each, who do you think they'll most mourn. Even facing death there is human subjectivity.
Existence is odd.
I am so sorry Kobe was killed. But I, who accept "death's distant sure," am sorry when anybody dies: especially the young, especially the good; but even the gang-member in the drive-by shooting ("He died instantly," reports the Media. "How the fu** do you know? ask I); even the crooked politician, even the enemy of mine.
That's odd?
Not really. I love that we die. But I love that we live. And I always hope, pray, but wonder on hearing of a death, "Did you live? Like, really, really live."
Thus, I'm sad for a while, utter the prayer, "To that of becoming Buddha"; and get back to the business of trying to really, really live.
Odd (again), but just this very morning I moved myself to spring out of bed with a "Get up! Life to live!"
So there I go now wondering what Kobe got himself out of bed with this morning? Or his young daughter? And all the other people who were sharing life with them one minute, then sharing death?
Here's one thing for sure that's not odd: I don't know how to end. Not odd, true, but like life, too.
I'll bow to borrowing words from another writer:
"If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character ... Would you slow down? Or would you speed up?" -- Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club, Choke)
Kobe, I believe you lived.
What's more, through every baller who reflects your moves, or anyone who was inspired by the way you crafted your life, you will live on. Really. Really.
No comments:
Post a Comment