Day of the Dead

 

Ah, if it were only I who will be dying in the decade ahead. But what better time to think of the balm of death than the Day of the Dead. 

Why, you may ask, am I so pessimistic? Well, I call it realistic. Israel and Palestine are killing thousands of innocent people in a war of bigotry. Russia and Ukraine are at war for years. Threats of future wars are simmering. The endless mass shootings continue unabated.  Climate change is killing people all over the planet. Our own Congress is run by bigots and people spreading hate. For me, no amount of good food, beverage, or travel, or even my delightful hikes in the forest and in the mountains can numb the awareness of the evil we  daily inflict on ourselves, on the animals of the world, and on the planet itself. Mankind is cruel and destructive, no matter the gorgeous art, the creativity, the genius, if you will. We are killers. Eventually we shall kill ourselves in a painful way, whether by war or by pollution. And when we hide our heads in the sand, we suffocate. 

That being said, I do want to fondly remember some the dear dead in my own life. Murder, suicide, disease, and broken hips took them. Only Dad lived into his mid-nineties. All the rest died too young. Still, how grateful I am for the lives they shared with me for so many years.