“My purpose is to tell of bodies which have been transformed
into shapes of a different kind.”
I think about my purpose after a hard couple weeks. Two friends have passed, one a man and the other a dog and I’ve beheld their ashes. Bodies now shapes of a different kind. And I thought of Ovid, that stricken cartoonist, who saw men and women trapped within trees and animals, who knew the cruel gods and goddesses. In other words I cursed my education.
What else can you do?
Foolish to think we have purpose. And equally silly to imagine we don’t. As the poet said: “curses on those who do/and do not take dope.”
Holding my little dog’s ashes last night I reminded myself I’ve a reason to be here. And I’ve no idea what it is.
My friend was what we’ve come to call a “failed Catholic” who, by my lights, was a success as he left a cruel church and practiced lovingkindness all his days. His motto would have been had he shared it: “be good, be kind, get on with it.”
Ovid, who didn’t think creation was kind would not have understood this. But the Sermon on the Mount is, like the Declaration of Independence, a game changer. Dare to be kind, dare to think for yourself. Dare to know love is the purpose.
I repeat this to the ashes.