The Meaning of Life, From an Old King
Shadows-of-meaning, illusion and lies, everything fades, everything dies. Shadows-of-meaning, fading, steam from a grave. What is there to show, or to know, for a lifetime? Effort, struggle, work, and dreams? Working till you’re half dead, burned up, faded out; health wanes, death waxes, and the constant? You already know. Fading til faded, and a fresh wet grave.
Generations work building empires. Poor and rich alike, thrust spires into the sky. Did you forget Babel? Generations die, paupers and kings. Everyone dies. Working hard, towards the grave, at the helm of the ship, and generations die.
It’s a heavy burden, God, not to even know what is worth the effort.
Youth takes over, of course, but youth becomes old and dies. Fading to another fresh grave. my children at the reins? Yes, until their death. Vapors. The world spins, the earth quakes. The storms come and go, the sun rises, falls and the sun sees all, from his lofty old place, that jolly old elf. Reminds me of myself. Men’s dreams of conquest fall. Governments “put in some work” making great plans for mankind. Personal gain, “greed works!”
New governments, soon in the history books; gone. Ghosts dancing after shadows. It’s a heavy burden, God, not to even know what is worth the effort. Nothing new? I laugh so hard a bit of lunch comes up. Indeed my friend, nothing, nothing, nothing, everything ends that’s been tried.
Still someone says . . . Look at this new thing! People marvel. Then that dies. Depressing.
All the waters rush nervously to join the sea. The winds rush frantically to their destiny. The sea, very happy to suck up the water, spits it to the sky, doing its thing with the wind’s help, comes round full circle. Rains fall, and water rushes in rivers to the sea, all over again. Work, work, work, feels satisfying. Is the eye, however, never satisfied with the view? Is the ear, however never satisfied with the sounds? In all this wonder, the soul drowns.
Nothing new, nothing, nothing, nadda, zippo, zip. Everything has still been tried, and yet, again, some new man says, get ready for this: (I’m holding my laughter) “Look at this new thing!” Yet when he holds it up, his hands are empty, because it is already a reflection of what used to be. All the great things and small, that happened years ago. All the great people and humble, that lived years ago, None are remembered now. Even those born tomorrow, are already dead, into a new wet grave. Ideas, and people of greatness tossed into the hole with the dreams, and piles and piles of potential to cover over the bodies.
The “teacher,” let’s face it, King of all Israel, handsome man: He was a learner, a good thing. He was a wise man, a good thing. He was man who tried to figure out the mysteries and happenings of this world under heaven. He saw much, and all of it, shadows of meaning, illusion. “It was like trying to catch the wind,” he said. Trying to find meaning in this life. Futile attempts were made, to sort it all out.
However, even for the highest of the earthly king: if it was twisted, it stayed twisted; if it was only a dream, it could not be counted awake.
He said to himself (the king), I sure have gotten damned wise more than any king before me. My experiences are vast, in wisdom and knowledge I have even impressed myself greatly!
Yet also in madness, and even just outright fun craziness. Trying to find meaning, I learned that I would sooner catch the wind. Wisdom brought me down, like a dead shot, I crashed and burned. Knowledge brought me trouble, and further down, to an old, old familiar grave. The only good was to be home again. And I went home to the fresh wet grave too. Now my grave is dust, my bones are dust. My memories are a ghost fading into the wind. Gone. In my heart, I thought “I have the best idea, you ready???? . . . pleasure; there’s the thing to try! Enjoy myself fully, and I laughed till I cried.
Then thinking: foolishness was the thing, dancing, with balloons, naked under the stars. More wine! Find out what is meaningful . . . but it was only for a time. Then, shadows of meaning, fading. Then I really tried drinking. I thought, a taste of the wild side, some wine, and more, some fun, some smoke, some pills, a little green brownie, and I covered all manner of late nights and harmless mindless foolishness. Then, of course, we did think some great thoughts. 2 A.M. wisdom with deep buzzing philosophy. New thoughts now? Always consider the effects of being high wisely.
I wanted to see what was worth anything at all. Out of all the things men do, what was worthwhile? For the length of a man’s life, what really works? I found shadows of meaning, fading, and a really bad hangover. I tried being a productive man. Suit and tie, taking notes, leaning in and listening. Presidential and finery so fine, I built things, houses, gardens, fields of crops. I ran pipes, and watered fields of trees, and built aqueducts. I grew food, and I thought, that’s the thing! The very thing everyone needs. Hero of the blogs. Feed the world! Did I capture the real meaning?
Nope.
I began to collect things that make a man. Servants, money, power, houses, castles and other kings.
Herds of animals, cars, churches, and monuments; the list goes on, and on. But then nothing does (go on, that is). Treasures heaping piles in my warehouse. Things fit for a king, [and I am certainly one]. Singers, musicians, and women.
Ooo, let me tell you about the women!
My book was full of phone numbers and email addresses, and all of them with several stars. The most gorgeous and pleasurable . . . God’s creation, hallelujah! I was the envy of all men, everywhere. I would have envied myself, but I am king.
A collection of life beyond compare. My value was sky high, and I felt I was better than anyone, yet with all this heady stuff, I was still as wise as I could be. I denied myself nothing I wanted, I refused myself not a single desire of my heart. Even my work was satisfying. My heart swelled with joy for a moment in time. And a swollen heart was my reward, and chest pain, nothing more; for all my efforts, in time. When I finally looked around at my life. At my wealth. At my collection of people. Places and things; I realized, it was an illusion. Shadows of meaning, just out of grasp, fading. Again, a chasing after the wind.
So back to wisdom. What more can the king do, than the king before? Wisdom was better than craziness of course. Just as light was better than darkness. The wise man sees where he is going, while the fool stumbles around in the darkness. Yet, here’s the irony: you ready? They both have the same end in a fresh wet grave.
Then it hit me, wise old king, Deep in my heart, I thought, the result of the foolish life, takes a person to the grave also. What do I gain living wise? Deep in my heart, I surmised, shadows of meaning, fading. For neither the wise man nor the fool, will be long remembered. In days to come, both are done, both are dead, both are dust. both must, die, fade.
I began to hate life, especially the work. Since it was all a shadow of meaning, or a chasing after the wind. I hated all the things, I felt I had wasted my time to achieve. What sense does it make to make such a great effort, and leave it all behind? To those who don’t really care anyway. Wise? Or foolish, I have no say, they just walk in and take over, they may burn my empire to the ground, what have I to say? For I am a shadow of meaning, fading. Man, I felt bad. Depression set in yet once again. What very wise man said, there is a time for everything? That means, everything: birthing, killing, dying, living healing, infecting, building, demolishing weeping, laughing, grieving, dancing pimping, limping, hating, lancing, fucking, suckling, prancing, defying scattering, gathering, tossing, fancying catching, dropping, messing and mopping.
Whew!
And a time to refrain, ok here we go again: its a loop, a time to find your keys, to get to your knees, losing, choosing, a time for thank you and please.
A time for embracing, chasing, and a time to lay off. Keep the clock, lay on the dock, wear a smock or just plain get paint all over yourself. A time to try harder, be smarter, search or hide, a time to keep secrets, tell stories, or trust and confide. A time to fix it up, or tear it down. A time for war, for peace, for truce. So what’s in it for me, for you? What does the job pay? For a week or a day? I’ve seen what God lays on people; beauty, and a heart for eternity, although not a person really gets it; what He’s done. What He’s given, created, sacrificed and won. From the beginning to the end, from the start to the finish. From the first light to the end of the night. There’s nothing that does it more, after all this searching, than to find a way to be happy.
CRAP! To find a way to be filled with joy! Eat, drink, dance, play and do all these things, in your work too. Although the drink, well, maybe lay off that till quitting time. God says, look around, enjoy, just give me the credit once in a while, give me the nod. Don’t forget, some day the bill comes; don’t forget.
Just so you know, I did look towards judgment: I found evil. I looked towards human justice. I found evil. So give that a rest. Leave that to God’s wisdom, as I said. There is a time for everything and that same God will look at the accounts, and weigh the costs and present the bill; my advice: get it paid!
Just so you know, live like a crap head, die like a crap head; as crap heads die, so we will too. On your own, you can’t be anything but a crap head who really knows if there will be crap heads in heaven? Not my business, but I’ll try a little not to be a crap head anyway, just in case. To sum up; party, dance, run and play, from the middle of the night to the middle of the day. Even back again, and when its time for work well we covered that, there is a time for everything. The power, the authority, the man to be, the man still in control, still in his hole, and still there was no peace, no rest, no righteousness.
So one day I said, from the top of my parapet: The dead, are, drop dead happier than the living. Even the zombies have more fun. The walking dead at least get a cool time under the sun. Then they are, as we said, dead, but the best place to be is the not yet. The soon to be, not as much, but the not yet, the time to get, the far off in the sunset. Even the good that mankind does, is a lie. Chase the wind, boy, meaningless. Fading, son. Foolish man, the fool, fold your hands, and die. Better open one hand at least, to accept life. Sadly you have only one mouth for your lie, and one hand for the sky! Or, fool, one hand for peace, at least, but the true fool uses two hands for life’s work. So just go chase the wind now, and waste no more time, for yours is a chasing of the wind.
Then I saw loneliness, like a demon, spread into a man. Take him down, to the ground, no son, no brother. No significant other, not even a life’s partner to hide from the conservative right. Wealth piled high, his treasures piled higher. “For whom am I working? Why do I work for myself when I am a liar? No enjoyment, just piles higher and higher. Now my stuff owns me, I am the slave. And all this time, I worked and behaved.” His business is a miserable one, If he falls down, no one helps him up. He just lays there upside down, like a turtle, rotting in the rising sun. Yet the man who has nothing but nothing, and one poor friend, has a better end, and a better time. As he is pulled out from under the sun, watch them lie down together, those two, misunderstood, misjudged as lovers. Watch the people raise their eyes; brows and all but they are warm through the night, and they help each other when one of them falls. How can one keep warm alone? The righteous man is overpowered by himself. But when twined like a rope, the two, can do; when braided together, the three and a three way, not easily broken (and can be fun). Four together, forget it, this is no token attempt (and can get you arrested). This is common defense, team spirit. Together we stand, divided we say FALL, but its true. Do you mind if I just sit here with you? So, better a poor wise young homeless guy, than an old but foolish king, who no longer hears the warning. Who no longer has warmth at night. Who lies in a heap without the ability to get up. The young homeless man may come straight out of jail, and become king, or born in a hell hole without a thing. Then of course the new young man was also a horrible king, but no one cared, because this too was stupid and faded away. And this new foolish king, chased after the same wind. Under the same sun.
Now my friends; into the Great House of God Up the steps, into the foyer. Odd, it’s pretty bright up ahead in that room. Stop for a moment, think, think, think, and then don’t think anymore for a while; that, my friend is feasting in style! To just be! Magnificent. The fools go in to say things. The real fools ask questions. Such important things to say to God, I’m sure. To rant, to rave, mostly they don’t know how to just be there. They have no real clue, the things they really, and truly and foolishly do.
Quiet, listening, searching, emptiness. Take time, to just be, to listen, to just keep. Hold my freaking breath, puts off my freaking death. Just time with the Spirit of the Ages, is a mountain of wisdom from the sage of the sages. What do you really have to say to God anyway? For me, not a damned thing, and quickly. I just want God to let me pull the rope to make the big bell ring, honk the big truck horn once, now that would be cool. Most sleepless nights I dream when my mind won’t shut down. My dreams are not any kind of wisdom, just rattling around with my crap on the ground. The ravings of a fool, so many words, so many things said foolishly out loud to the universe. Screamed out boldly, as if I had anything to say to the planets. Instead, emptiness, hard to come by, priceless to own. Lay it down they say, how do I do that in just one moment.
In just one lost and lonely day? Silence and emptiness is gold. It is better, by far, than the meaningless vapors, the drivel of my soul. Worse indeed, my mind, when it utters a lie, to cover the fact or to hide my foolishness. Surely I can’t promise anything, say anything, but my word better be my damned word if I do. Or damned I will be, because, whose house am I in after all? Fools rush in and promise the world. The world they don’t even own. Just to get a nod, from a god they barely even believe in. Simpletons, and wanting to die, fade into nothingness. I would rather make no promise, no opinion, things I never really meant, because like kindling, they make a great fire.
I would rather come out of this great house having stolen wisdom and words from the creator. From the one who placed the stars in the skies and named them all, then to pretend I have anything at all to offer. Rest in the arms of the One. I will ask Him if I may dwell in this great house of His, and His spirit, which has roamed these halls of the universe for all time. My words are crap, and burn even brighter. I look at the hungry, the left out, the poor all lined up. I see the proud and mighty standing over, watching like vultures instead of healers. The King, well, candidly makes his due as well. It costs a lot to keep this great palace of mine. And to have a golden chair on which to rest my behind.
I see the lovers of money and things, and once that bell rings in a heart, the heart has a bottomless black hole for more like an old whore, an addiction, the more I have, the more I want. I’m not immune to sin. I want it again, and again, and again, and in the end, it’s all meaningless vapor, shadows of meaning, fading. I would just like to die while I have my eyes on the prize, or from non-stop. When money is for all that I strive, I would die, for all time.
So naked came first, from my mother’s womb. And naked I go to the cold empty tomb. Nothing gold came with me, nothing gold will rot with me in the grave. My nakedness, is the only reality I save. So I dance naked! Celebrate my nothingness! And the grace is enough from a God above all, who gets the worship, and praise, and glory. On a bon fire, hot and bright, burning all through the night. A fire light is fueled with gladness of heart and I have found, it burns bright enough, to burn up all of the foolishness. Keeps me busy now, with gladness and gratitude.
Let’s just invite more, to the day’s work bash. And tomorrow we’ll work even harder for cash. So we can invite more to the party, so more can eat hearty, for all the days of our lives. That, my friend, is not meaningless, but the “rest of the story,” the reflection of Glory, is mercy and grace, and just a glimpse of the One’s face.
I may not ever understand, but the manna in hand, passing out a fullness in Him throughout all the land, filling every stomach with spiritual food, and every heart with praise! For all of our nights, and for all of our days!
From a Krabbe Desk
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