If Only Jim Morrison Were Right

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...Again

Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land


Jim Morrison and the Doors would have us believe that life starts, begins, and ends tragically. That there is a return to that which we came from. That when you close your eyes, embrace the darkness, there is only an all-consuming darkness afterward.

Apocryphal lies.

Even after you've closed your eyes, the sun still shines on your decaying form. And you're being dead doesn't mean you are no longer part of the eternal symbiosis of pain and frustration. Flowers used the energy from your matter as an advantage over other flowers. Chickadees weave your hair into their roosts. Your bones turn to soil, or maybe their preserved and later used as clubs. Their is no Nietzschian return to that which you came from or eternal repetitious cycle. Everything is in flux, but with flux comes the unpredictability of continuation, not of finality.

Their is only constant merger. Ebb and flow. Current and undertow.

"That door is closed," "I finally got closure," "I burned that bridge," "I'm ambivalent to it now," "I've stymied the flow," "I've blocked that road," "The lights are turned off."

Translation: I'm in denial.

The door can be reopened, no matter how securely it was locked. Closure is illusory. The bridge can be rebuilt. Ambivalence is ignorance. You could give less or more. The flow can burst the dam. The road can be cleared. The lights can be turned on.

Every emotion is recycled. Every reaction to a singularity is manifold complex. This is an injustice to the singularity, but this is reality.

Lust turns to hate turns back to lust again. Maybe you lust for a different person, however sediment from the principal lust makes its way into the secondary lust like a dollar bill that makes its way from New York to LA and back into the hands of the first person who spent it. And so on. Every time you kiss someone, you relive every kiss that preceded it. You're never just kissing the person you're kissing.

Animosity turns to forgiveness turns to animosity. You never forgive without reexperiencing every act of forgiveness that preceded it. And you never despise without despising everything you've ever despised.

Life is long division with a constant remainder. Life is a shoe with sand in it from the trip to the beach you took ten years ago. Nothing is eliminated.

Newly developed branches from a river redirect water away from a main tributary. The main tributary dries up. However, over the eons, it has eroded embankments, dug trenches, drowned hundreds of people, washed their bones downstream, provided life to plants and animals, carved away at the earth until cliffs and waterfalls were created. And in a moment, it can dry up. But evidence of the river remains. It is not gone, it is simply altered. And just as quickly as the main tributary became nothing more than an arid channel, a shift in tectonics, a sudden deluge, a torrential shower, a melting glacier, a faulty levee, and the main tributary will once again become a raging river. It will drown again. The water will reach new heights. The life of the river was assumed over, and now it is alive.