A Valediction

Guy I knew growing up seems to have passed on, as they say. Went kayaking in Alaska-- his kayak was found, but not him. We weren't close; he went to WSU then to Alaska the final frontier, I went on a mission then elsewhere, so I hadn't talked with him since High School, and indeed it appears I won't again, at least not in this life.

Hence, initially, I wasn't all that emotionally shocked when I heard via facebook of his disappearance. Indeed, I sadly wasn't all that surprised, remembering his penchant for dangerous games even in High School.

But today, I did find myself perusing his profile, and my first inclination was to consider the unspeakable tragedy, of a life cut so short so young, of a man alone, cut off from his friends, his family, perhaps even his God, perhaps even himself.

But I've studying literature for too long now, you see, it's infected me; I instead considered the Romantics, their search for the Sublime, the thrill that fills one's being at that moment when the mind comprehends its own obliteration.

That's why the Romantics were always standing on mountains, you see, staring into oceans, running into storms, gazing into the heavens, trying to comprehend all the stars at once, and not only not being able to but obliterating their minds in the process. Torrid love affairs, extreme emotions--telling them that these exceed bounds, that these are self-destructive is beside the point, since the self-destruction is the point, the obliteration of mind and body, when one is consumed by nature, the universe, by the whole. Better to live fast, quick, and brilliant, then long, slow and dim, those were the Romantics. No restful graves for them, thank you, they wouldn't fill a single forgotten plot but be torn apart and fill everything--

His last profile post, apparently, was a desire to get away at last from the pavement, to return to the last frontier, to where there were no more tracks made by man, returning to where the mountains meet the sea, to his serenity. Total 10th grade poetry, I'd give it a B if I was feeling generous, but only because I'd assumed it was cliched; but it wasn't a cliche, you see, cliches are crutches, escapes--he lived deliberately, fully, in full consciousness of the danger you enter, it's real, it consumes you whole. Few of us have the courage to live the cliche; fewer even to die by it.

At the grave risk of coming off inexcusably callous, I have to wonder what it felt like. Did he experience the sublime moment? Did his mind expand? His soul? Did he comprehend his own obliteration? What did he comprehend at last? Did he feel melancholy? Despair? Exhilaration? Joy? All at once? What is the ultimate sublime moment?

It's almost enough to make me want to join him. For now, all that keeps me grounded is a promise, that the heart will expand wide as and shake eternity. In the mean time, I tip my hat to him, I wish him well, I promise to love my life more, and say God be with you till we meet again.