11,193. RUDIMENTS, pt. 453

RUDIMENTS, pt. 453
(the three stooges)
Over time I could have died

with all the crap I believed in.

As it turned out, I wanted my

living motto to be 'Only for

the fun.' I kept that in reserve

anyway. And then one day, if

you can believe this, I came

home from work and my wife

- who'd been taking care of her

sick and ailing mother  -  says

to me (her mother died of a

severe dementia about a year

and some later) 'While we

were out today, my mother

wanted us to stop and take

care of burial arrangements.'

I shrugged, and said, Well,

OK, yeah; what'd she get? I

thought she had plans to be

next to your father?' My wife

says, 'No, silly, not for her;

for us!' Huh? Turns out, we

were at this time living in

Metuchen (37 years), and

they have a number of

graveyards there. They'd

chosen a basic, catch-all

kind of non-denominational

Metuchen dumping grounds,

(Ooops!) I mean, graveyard.

So, for like 3 grand they got

a double wide, spot for two,

me and her, I guess that'll be.

Honestly, I didn't really care;

not much interest in where my

calcified mug rots away for

eternity. So, some time later

we go over there to check

the spot out  -  I mean I guess

it's forever, unless they build

condos there too and we become

the basement. When I get there,

my first words were, 'What the

Holy Hell! (I'll try not to curse).

For all eternity I'm going to be

stretched out (comfortably, I

guess) at arm's length or so

from some moron whose

gravestone is THE THREE

STOOGES! A large Three

Stooges! Yep, you got it right,

and see the photo here if you

don't believe me. I figure it's

cosmic justice, in the joke

sense, since I was just raging

on previously about there being

no cemeteries in Avenel. If

some guy had a thing for the

Three Stooges like that, why

in the world did he have to

inflict it on others, Hell, on

ME! My own very cosmic raft

of forever, I'm on a freakshow

boat ride with Moe, Larry, and

Curly. My wife, of course, trying

to put 'best light' on this  -  and

because it's probably her eternity

too, so the books say  -  thinks

it's all kind of cool, and then

she (maliciously) adds that

when I die there will be so

many people from all over the

world visiting Metuchen to

find my legendary burial

site, 'Like you do now, with

Ginsberg and Twain and

Whitman and Melville and

Crane,' that it will add a

fame and a panache to

the entire scene of my

gravesite. Jim Morrison

here I come? Metuchen

get ready.

-

Well, I said 'only for the

fun.' Not much else a boy

from Avenel can do. I don't

think they allow burial (yet)

in one's own yard. That would

be cool  -  a little running

fountain, a sit-down outdoor

wet-bar, some recorded words

and music, an overview of a

sucker's life, some holy water,

and a meter to collect (of

course) donations. Where

the money would go? Yeah,

beyond me and I wouldn't

much care anyway. Things

pass away; that includes me.

-

I always believed that everything

was finite in this world; in this

manifestation. The one we see.

There's our other, broader,

operative world  -  imaginings

dreams and wanderings and

all that  -  just as real or moreso.

Each of our thoughts and each

of our intentions making a world

of their own, so that, in the end,

WE are the real creators, forming

and designing worlds to be lived

in, made up of our thoughts.

That's nothing but trouble

for the folks with all this

negative stuff they put out,

but that's all their problem,

none of it's mine, and if those

schmucks never got the

message, tough on 'em.

I build the good, and for

the love of the world too.

-

My point being : the physical

things of our world, yes,

including us, are finite. None

of it, at that level, has anything

to do with the radiance that

comes from within us. Everything

in this world falls apart and has

limitations  -  the windshield wiper,

your toaster, the TV, the garage

door opener, etc., etc. They all

have a built in number of uses,

and they're done. Whatever it

is  -  5 billion wiper swipes,

17,000 pieces of toast, 504,000

hours of TV watching. It's all

got a number to be reckoned

with, and it's done. Now, the

beats of your heart come into

this category too, so be careful.

I have no idea the number, nor

how close to 'the same' it is

for everyone. At some point

you're going to pop those last

few beats, at the rundown,

and you'll know. Maybe God

does know already.

-

I used to think about stuff like

this within the confines of my

metal barracks-style seminary

bed. There wasn't much else

to do, having already prayed

my lungs out to be delivered

from Evil (nice try). There was

absolutely no support for it,

it was seen as anti-Christian,

for one, and completely beyond

politeness and good company.

So, once again, even there, I

was isolated and alone. The

problem for me was that I

could not see it being any

more or less negative from

anything else going on around

me. Arthur Miller had a play

back then, called 'The Crucible.'

It was 'about' the Salem Witch

Trials, but in reality it was a

coded, drama-reference to the

McCarthy era of 'bad' politics,

which had just ended. Nothing

could be said, just maybe

suggested; and a lot of those

matronly, theater, types went to

see it on Broadway and stuff

just really thinking it was some

jerkhole's play about the old

Salem Witch Trials. It was, but

it wasn't, but Miller couldn't say

that. He'd already been blacklisted

anyway, and then to rub it in he

started sleeping with Marilyn

Monroe, and married her. I

guess he showed them. Like

one of those 3D topographical

maps with the bumps on it.

That was all so seminary-like

too  -  we could maybe sneak to

read that play, but if found out

there'd be repercussions, and of

course we were NOT allowed to

even think about staging it. (We

didn't have any girls anyway, and

it got really tiresome to keep

seeing your friends in drag and

makeup pretending to be a girl,

while you're going nuts dreaming

about them anyway). The stupid

monks couldn't have cared less,

and they probably all had 'pictures'

of St. Theresa or somebody to

swoon over.

-

Within this context, I figured,

you could either limit what you

do or expand what you do, but

you still pretty much remained

within those parameters. If you

expanded everything to an excess,

like drugs or alcohol or whatever,

you changed everything, I suppose.

It got hazy and I really didn't

have a leg to stand on but I never

cared about that anyway. All

for fun, remember? Which is

how I probably 'earned' myself

those damned Three Stooges for

eternity. I bet you're thinking

this really bothers me, that grave

and all. Nah, not at all....What's

the whole idea about buying a

grave ahead of time anyway;

especially one bought by a daft

old lady and her daughter as

a 'gift' for someone else? Oh,

I forgot, it doesn't bother me.

-

The other problem or dead end

or whatever you wish to call it,

which this brought me to, was

the question then of were we

or were we not powerless to 

influence and effect our own

personal fates? Which then also

of course brought up the other

problem of 'societal' or mass

fates, of us all as peoples on

the globe, together. Wars and

rumors of wars, you know....

These were heavy questions,

and these Catholics dudes, for

one thing, didn't much wish

to hear about it. I walked away

from there with the following

conclusion : (Hear me out, oh

Avenel) : All we do, all of it,

is nothing of our own. Whatever

we have and do is what we've

been given. Our life is an

assignment  -  that goes from

Kelso in the foxhole to Fireman

Dan on his ladder perch. Eat

you food, dude, 'cause it's

the only meal you're getting.