Head-dibs

1797 to 1828 was all he had. Franz Schubert died young. A student of Antonio Salieri, Schubert became obsessed with music at a young age. Days were long doing little but composing. When he started teaching piano, he was known to stop composing music only to discipline a student who interrupted him. A typical romantic-bohemian, borrowing money, living in other people's homes, he sold his music cheap and spent any earnings drinking and reciting poetry with friends who loved and performed his music ("Schubertians"). Schubert's Symphony No. 8 is known as his "Unvollendete" (Unfinished), as he started the piece in 1822 and only completed the first two movements. As a joke, young music students penned lyrics to the melody found in the cello and echoed by the violins after the first minute or so, "This is the symphony that Schubert wrote but didn't finish;  this is the symphony that Schubert wrote but didn't finish,  th' unfinished symphon...

Skinny old man, he was. Always out working in the yard in a light cotton shirt, his child-sized jeans secured in place by suspenders and those heavy boots. Puttering in the yard, there was never a time he did not wave to a neighbor walking or driving by. Sometimes we arrived at my grandparents house in the late afternoon and he was the first to greet me, giving a wave across the yard. If we arrived during the night, he was easily heard the very next day pushing a mower, or seen raking leaves, tending flower beds. When he saw me, he shared that wave he must have been saving just for me. I remember once going outside just to wave at Mr. Douglas. One day we drove up and Mr. Douglas was not in the yard. He was not there the next day, either. The picture was all wrong. He was always there, but not today. The yard was still. "He's passed on," my grandmother said. I didn't know what that meant and the adults exchanged glances and prepared themselves for a cautionary expla...

I'm at the point in my life where I could be happy with a small armload of books. When I survey the blocks of paper occupying my shelves, I am grateful for the minds who share their thoughts in them, but it's a crowd of voices. I'd like to surround myself with a few great men who have great things to say--the kind of men who would pull a knife from their pocket, slice off a chunk of apple and ruminate with horse-sense on things that really matter. I am spending some time with an old friend I've not visited in well over 30 years. I'm out on a pond outside Concord, Massachusetts. You might know the place, on the way to Boston. You might know my friend, the anarchist Henry David Thoreau. Giving the Stoics a break, I'm reading Thoreau's "Walden And Civil Disobedience" with pencil in hand. No agenda. Just visiting. Just one book from the pile I'd rescue from a fire or wouldn't mind being stranded with. (I carry three in my backpack at all t...

"Anything that can be prevented, taken away or coerced is not a person's own. But those things that can't be blocked are their own." (Epictetus, Discourses, 3.2.4) Think for a moment about the the things you work so hard for. Think also about someone you may know who works so much harder for something you would consider less, beyond daily living. How many scrape and claw and fight and sweat and grieve over one model of car or piece of electronics? There are some amazing refrigerators out there, some with computers built right into the door. Truth is, like any other refrigerator, it's going to break down. Something is bound to stop working. The only difference between that one and mine is that mine is going to be less expensive to repair. But what is really yours? What do you really own? As it stands, you may have forgotten how some bank somewhere might actually own all your stuff. It's not yours. Yet. The car I've been driving for years will finall...

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.” ―Joseph Campbell (1904–1987), Professor of Literature

Last month I was challenged to run 100 miles with a friend, but by month's end we came up 4 miles short due to sickness. That sort of pictures most things I try--great starts and lousy finishes. At first I am disappointed when I come up short or fail but then I remember that sometimes I'm not supposed to finish. Failure becomes training ground. Like all those journeys and expeditions you read of where great explorers packed up their gear and left for months or years--some to die, some to fail, few to finish. That's the way it goes. At least we tried. Had we not tried, we would never know what we could or could not do. There's always another chance to try again, as long as we live. That's how great things get done. By trying. But I am getting ahead of myself . . . As December begins, one wonders how to begin a new month while also thinking about closing out another year. This last year I've been reading The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday. Each month has a th...

Read Seneca's letter online After I made the above-video, I remembered the song Eric Clapton wrote after the death of his four-year-old son, Conor. It's an imaginative piece, a song of a father who not only wants to spend time with his son, but has also reconciled with death: "beyond the door, there's peace, I'm sure."

"Let death and exile, and all other things which appear terrible be daily before your eyes, but chiefly death, and you will never entertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything." (Epictetus, Enchiridion 21) Stratospheric traces of our transitory flight Trails of condensation held in narrow bands of white The sun is turning black The world is turning gray All the stars fade from the night The oceans drain away Horizon to Horizon memory written on the wind Fading away, like an hourglass, grain by grain Swept away like voices in a hurricane In a vapor trail Atmospheric phases make the transitory last Vaporize the memories that freeze the fading past Silence all the songbirds Stilled by the killing frost Forests burn to ashes Everything is lost Washed away like footprints in the rain In a vapor trail

"Consider when, on a voyage, your ship is anchored; if you go on shore to get water you may along the way amuse yourself with picking up a shellfish, or an onion. However, your thoughts and continual attention ought to be bent towards the ship, waiting for the captain to call on board; you must then immediately leave all these things, otherwise you will be thrown into the ship, bound neck and feet like a sheep. So it is with life. If, instead of an onion or a shellfish, you are given a wife or child, that is fine. But if the captain calls, you must run to the ship, leaving them, and regarding none of them. But if you are old, never go far from the ship: lest, when you are called, you should be unable to come in time." (Epictetus, Enchiridon 7) TWO DIFFICULTIES: This strange little metaphor tells a story, a parable of sorts. And as with many metaphors and analogies, sometimes they fail, so there are a couple of head-scratching moments as the story unfolds. We won't t...

“It is better to conquer our grief than to deceive it. For if it has withdrawn, being merely beguiled by pleasures and preoccupations, it starts up again and from its very respite gains force to savage us. But the grief that has been conquered by reason is calmed for ever. I am not therefore going to prescribe for you those remedies which I know many people have used, that you divert or cheer yourself by a long or pleasant journey abroad, or spend a lot of time carefully going through your accounts and administering your estate, or constantly be involved in some new activity. All those things help only for a short time; they do not cure grief but hinder it. But I would rather end it than distract it.” — Seneca Do not complain about what has been taken away but be thankful about what has been given.

We are confused when it comes to the subject of death. When we receive word that an enemy has been killed or died, we are happy but when someone we know, like or love dies we are sad. So which is it? Are we happy or sad when it comes to the subject of death?  We eat without giving thought about the plant or animal that dies to feed us. We thrive on death. Freezers full of meat harvested at our own hand bring us delight with a little BBQ sauce, but when the dog dies . . .  Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, after hearing his father was ill, penned the following in a letter written April 4, 1787: “I have now made a habit of being prepared in all affairs of life for the worst. As death, when we come to consider it closely, is the true goal of our existence, I have formed during the last few years such close relationships with this best and truest friend of mankind that his image is not only no longer terrifying to me but is indeed very soothing and consoling, and I thank my Go...

Recently while standing at a graveside, this song came to mind and I can't help but share it here. "Long ago I read a story from another timeline about a character named  Candide  [written in 1759]. He also survived a harrowing series of misadventures and tragedies, then settled on a farm near Constantinople. Listening to a philosophical rant, Candide replied, 'That is all very well, but now we must tend our garden.' I have now arrived at that point in my own story. There is a metaphorical garden in the acts and attitudes of a person's life, and  the treasures of that garden are love and respect . I have come to realize that the gathering of love and respect - from others and for myself - has been the real quest of my life. 'Now we must tend our garden.'"  Neil Peart, from the album "Clockwork Angels" (2012). Note: the lines in the song "the arrow flies" speaks of death's arrow that comes to every person. But ju...

credit: blogilates "But I have been consigned, so to speak, to one special ailment. I do not know why I should call it by its Greek name; for it is well enough described as “shortness of breath.” Its attack is of very brief duration, like that of a squall at sea; it usually ends within an hour. Who indeed could breathe his last for long? I have passed through all the ills and dangers of the flesh; but nothing seems to me more troublesome than this. And naturally so; for anything else may be called illness; but this is a sort of continued 'last gasp.' Hence physicians call it 'practicing how to die.'” (Seneca, Letter 64) " . . . if I must suffer illness, I shall desire that I may do nothing which shows lack of restraint, and nothing that is unmanly. The conclusion is, not that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, which enables us patiently to endure hardships." (Seneca, Letter 67) Seneca maintains a disarming sense of humor that...

"No man can have a peaceful life who thinks too much about lengthening it, or believes that living through many consulships is a great blessing. Rehearse this thought every day: that you may be able to depart from life contentedly; for many men clutch and cling to life, even as those who are carried down a rushing stream clutch and cling to briars and sharp rocks. Most men ebb and flow in wretchedness between the fear of death and the hardships of life; they are unwilling to live, and yet they do not know how to die. For this reason, make life as a whole agreeable to yourself by banishing all worry about it." (Seneca, Letter 4 "On The Terrors of Death") Here is one truth concerning death: it arrives.  Unexpectedly for the most part, but death arrives.  And what happens once death arrives? We seem to have an inkling of life, but what of death? If we exhaust our days wasting life (a kind of un-living) then dread and despair should be expected, for no amoun...

I received word that one of my advisees has died of a cardiac incident while on a run with his wife. He was two years younger than me. He finished the last course of his program in December and was set to graduate with a Master of Arts degree in Theological Studies this coming May. As our thoughts and prayers are with his family, let us not miss the opportunity to reflect and perhaps even prepare for our own passing by recognizing that, in the brevity of life, we must complete what is important. Let us waste no time entertaining ourselves to death but love fiercely, work well, and leaving as little as possible undone. "Do not despise death, but be well content with it, since this too is one of those things which nature wills. For such as it is to be young and to grow old, and to increase and to reach maturity, and to have teeth and beard and grey hairs, and to beget, and to be pregnant and to bring forth, and all the other natural operations which the seasons of your life bri...

Would you please take a quiet moment to quietly consider the following paragraph? Regardless of it's topic, would you commit to reading through to the very end? I'll make my point shortly thereafter.  "Think continually how many physicians are dead after often contracting their eyebrows over the sick; and how many astrologers after predicting with great pretensions the deaths of others; and how many philosophers after endless discourses on death or immortality; how many heroes after killing thousands; and how many tyrants who have used their power over men's lives with terrible insolence as if they were immortal; and how many cities are entirely dead, so to speak, Helice and Pompeii and Herculaneum, and others innumerable. Add to the reckoning all whom thou hast known, one after another. One man after burying another has been laid out dead, and another buries him: and all this in a short time. To conclude, always observe how ephemeral and worthless human things are...

What would you like on your headstone? What would your epitaph be? I pray mine would not be some trite witticism but something that says, "Yep! Without doubt, that's him." Edgar Lee Masters pondered life and death in his poem, "George Gray." I have studied many times  The marble which was chiseled for me--  A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.  In truth it pictures not my destination  But my life.  For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;  Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;  Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.  Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.  And now I know that we must lift the sail  And catch the winds of destiny  Wherever they drive the boat.  To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,  But life without meaning is the torture  Of restlessness and vague desire--  It is a boat longing f...

Today was the Boston Marathon. Congratulations to the winner. But do you remember Martin? He was 8 years old when he died at the Boston Marathon on April 15, 2013 when two bombs exploded. Martin was one of three who died that day. 264 others were injured. A marathon is a long race and it is said that the first "marathon" was run by a Greek soldier who ran to Athens with the news that Greeks had defeated the Persians at The Battle Of Marathon. It was a race to bring good news. An "evangelion," that is, "good news," of sorts. In the video below you'll note that Martin had a message. There's a picture of Martin holding a blue sign that says, "No more hurting people. Peace." Martin believed in peace and he seemed to be vocal about it. That's about all I know about Martin, that he stood for peace. There's a personal thought here though: I'm a father and a grandfather with thoughts and feelings that only a father can have fo...

Death Beth Knows