DEATH'S CHURCH

DEATH | A REFLECTION

What can I say, that would be more inspiring than what has been previously said? As I reflected on death, in the surroundings of the small chapel at Kutna Hora, I remembered so many wise words. The bones were bare. The sockets of the skulls watched my every move. My own feelings came before me, and stood in front of me, unblinking. I am ready. Every day, I am ready to die, and this is why: I feel that I have lived every moment to the utmost, and I have no regrets and no attachments. I am content, happy in the fact that I could die tomorrow.

I think it is important to talk about these things - to reach a point where you can accept that waiting white hand. For, as the fear of death fades away, so does an apprehension towards truly living! Let me explain. We fear death, so we do not speak of it. We do not think on it, or only in our worst daydreams. Not in the bright sunlight of the world. And thus, the person who thinks not of death does not reflect on the fragility of life - how precious it is. For, life hangs on death and vice versa. If we become our mortality, then we can appreciate life everyday, and decide what it is we want from that day, and from all the days we have left. To stop just-getting-by, and to start living in each moment is a momentous change!

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”

— MARK TWAIN

“From my rotting body flowers shall grow. And I am in them and that is eternity.”

— EDVARD MUNCH

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

— J. R. R. TOLKEIN

“Death, the sable smoke which vanishes the flame.”

— LORD BYRON

CREATION

Creation is a wonderful thing, no? I mean, is it not miraculous that so many years ago, tiny cells joined to form larger organisms, and then were given the gift of living-breathing-life?

We cannot help but love the lives around us. Humans have always been fascinated by other life forms, painting their figures on walls of clay; undulating forms that followed the lines of the cave. They have studied them in every which way, always watching. In the past we watched to learn the wisdom of others, learning which berries are safe to eat, and whether the ice was too thin to cross. Even now, we can learn from biomimicry - copying the organisation of bees in alternative systems design, or watching the water roll off a duck's back, in order to model a better waterproof fabric. 

Along with wisdom, we have acquired over the years a peculiar set of technical terms for groups of animals. These words are fascinating too, and I sometimes ponder their etymological origins. When I read back over these, my imagination runs riot...

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A barrel of monkeys, hooting with laughter.

A parade of elephants, taking a break.

A nest of snakes,
hiding from sight.

A mischief of mice,
all huddled for warmth.

A scurry of chipmunks, thieving the nuts.

A celebration of Polar Bears, shaking off water.

A destruction of wild cats, sleeping in trees.

A lounge of lizards, lazing in sunlight.

A congregation of alligators, mouths all agape.

A band of gorillas, just wanting a rest.

A rookery of seals, twisting and turning.

A troop of lemurs, searching for food.

When lemurs cuddle together, it is technically called a Lemur Ball.

PRAGUE

 

MODERN BOHEMIANISM

“Sometimes the customers threw something into the hats. Sometimes they took something out of the hats. Sometimes they took the hats.”

— GEORGE BURNS ON BUSKING

Out there, on the road, we are all a part of the caravan of traveling gypsies. Sometimes our paths intersect, and we come together to learn from one-another, like the Bohemian painters of Paris. Other times, we are just making our way in the world. 

A fortune-teller stops young girls on the street, asking to see their hands, pawing at them with her own cracked and wizened fingers, while a young monkey of a boy creeps in to steal from their backpacks. 

Two young men perform a silent act, one levitating above the other, drawing crowds of onlookers.

Painters on the streets gather in common, to sketch and daub their works in the eyes of the adoring public, along the bridge of Charles IV. 

A man dips a length of string into a bucket, then blows giant bubbles that dazzle in the sunlight, to the delight of all the laughing children.

And then there is me. I come to learn from these masters, to take from them the magic I see on spellbound faces, and to transform it, via alchemical process, into glances of feeling: my photography. I wish to join with these uninhibited souls, I want to learn more from them. 

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And then the question may be asked, why are we out here, traveling this alternative route? Sometimes I am questioned about my future. They ask me what I plan to do with myself, when I might begin working. As if my life is at a standstill until the real work begins. I have no solid answer for these people, only gestures...

“I have see a vision of a great rucksack revolution... all of ‘em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their head for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.”

— JACK KEROUACK