May 14, 2022

Well that lobster the other night was OK, aside from Sue vomiting it before we even  left  the  place, but today I had the one we traveled all this way for for lunch in Oil Nut Bay. OMG. Char-broiled, huge. OMG. The butter. OMG.

On the boat that took us to the restaurant I had a revelation watching the churning, expanding wake behind us. I never could wrap my head around Finnegan's Wake in college, but I do remember that Joyce, as always, was using every aspect and derivative of every word he wrote.  Thus, "wake," both that of a boat and that of a funeral. That which is a furious churning of the sea, or perhaps an active tumultuous life such as my own, and the expanding, receding wave--the life form--dissolving back into that from which it came. This is the true meaning behind our ritual funeral wake.

Truly there should be no mourning my own or any other's wake.  Death is still another aspect of the word, because to die is to shed the temporal form and to finally awaken to what we truly are: not just the universe from which we came, but the all-pervading source from which we arose and into which we recede back. Were there anyone to feel joy, death would be a joyful transition--"moving on" as they say here in the islands when somebody drowns. But it's even better than that. It is peace beyond understanding, perfection, total freedom, the Absolute beyond expression, Parabrahman Nirguna.

I'll take it....