LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
How to die well?
- "For dust you are and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19)
- "I don't care what you do with me, I'll be dead and it won't be my problem anymore." (My mother)
- "[N]o one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away–until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence." (Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett)
- To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don’t get over it because ‘it’ is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to? (Jeanette Winterson, from Written on the Body)
Scan from ‘The Empire of Death’ - St Pancratius, Church of St Nikolaus, Switzerland
Aʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ, ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴜʀs. Bᴜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ. Fᴏʀ ɪғ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxɪsᴛ. Iғ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxɪsᴛ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏɴ. Aɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏɴ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴇɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴅᴀʏ. Lᴏʀᴅ, ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ɢʀᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ? Fᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴɢs. Tᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ɢɪᴠᴇɴ. Fᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴋᴇ ᴏғ ᴘʀɪsᴏɴᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴅs.
Lᴏʀᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʀᴠᴇsᴛ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ғᴏʀ, ɪғ ɴᴏᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴ?
(Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett)
St. Valerius (Weyarn, Germany)
Mind maps to help gather the first bout of thoughts, like hearded cats
Poster by Sam Hensley, illustrating one approach to the subject matter. Very seductive one honestly, It led me to tap in place for a while until I figured out that I'm not doing what they're doing
People talk a lot of nonsense about Wikipedia given that it's the most rigorously peer-reviewed source of free knowledge in the world. Anyways, the amount of Wiki dives I went on during this project... Too much.
Sometimes it just doesn't make sense until you actually make it.
Or write it out